
Class 
Book. 






Cfapgfrtfl?— 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




S^CA^AJL/ ^.O^^^-C^. 



SV->J--c9Ta5> 




THE COMPLETE POETICAL 

WORKS OF 

HENRY WADSWORTH 

c 

LONGFELLOW 

ii 

Cabinet Coition 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

<&bz Utitocrj&i&e pre^tf, <£ambri&0e 



LIBRARY of CQNGfiE.33 


1 wo Oooies 


Receded 


JUN 22 


1908 


CLtfS» * AXc, *o, 



<^ ^ LMjC 



COPYRIGHT 184I, 1843, 1846, 1847, 1849, 1851, l85S, 1858, 1863, lS65 ! , ,lS66, 1S67, 

1868, 1869, 1871, 1872, 1873, 1874, 1875, 1876, 1877, 1S78, 1879, i88o,l ! ,82, 1S83, 

l8S6, 1891, 1894, 1896, 1899, 1900, 1901, 1902 AND I908 BY HENRY 
WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AND ERNEST W. LONGFELLr >V 

COPYRIGHT lS82, 1883, 18S6 AND 1893 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



PUBLISHEES' NOTE 

This Cabinet edition of Longfellow's Complete Poetical 
Works includes the trilogy of Ohristus and all the transla- 
tions, save Dante and those short translations not included by 
the poet in his latest collective edition. In the Cambridge 
edition, it was deemed best to bring together in an Appen- 
dix the discarded work of the poet, for the convenience of the 
student, but in this edition the poet's own course is followed, 
and the reader has before him the entire body of poetry 
authorized by the poet, together with the posthumous poems 
published by his representatives shortly after his death. The 
plates of this volume are new, and the opportunity has been 

ken to add line numbers in the case of the longer poems. 

eat care has been taken to present the complete poetical 

orks in a compact yet readable form. 

Autumn, 1899. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

Pkeludb 1 

Hymn to the Night ... 2 

A Psalm of Life 3 

The Reaper and the Flow- 
ers 3 

The Light op Stars ... 4 

Footsteps of Angels ... 4 

Flowers 5 

The Beleaguered City . . 6 
Midnight Mass for the Dy- 
ing Year 7 

EARLIER POEMS. 

An April Day 8 

Autumn 9 

Woods in Winter .... 9 
Hymn of the Moravian Nuns 

of Bethlehem 10 

Sunrise on the Hllls ... 11 

The Spirit of Poetry ... 11 

Burial of the Minnisink . 12 

L'Envoi 13 

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 

The Skeleton in Armor . . 14 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 15 

The Village Blacksmith . . 17 

Endymion 18 

It is not always May . . 18 

The Rainy Day 19 

God's-Acre 19 

To the River Charles . . 19 

Blind Bartimeus .... 20 

The Goblet of Life ... 20 

Maidenhood 21 

Excelsior 22 

POEMS ON SLAVERY. 

To William E. Channing . 23 

The Slave's Dream. ... 23 
The Good Part, that shall 

sot be taken away ... 24 



PAGE 

The Slave in the Dismal 

Swamp 25 

The Slave singing at Mid- 
night 25 

The Witnesses 25 

The Quadroon Girl ... 26 

The Warning .27 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



27 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 
AND OTHER POEMS. 

Carillon 67 

The Belfry of Bruges . . 68 

A Gleam of Sunshine ... 70 

The Arsenal at Springfield 70 

Nuremberg 72 

The Norman Baron ... 73 

Rain in Summer 74 

To A Child 75 

The Occultation of Orion . 78 

The Bridge 79 

To the Driving Cloud . . 80 



The Day is done .... 81 
Afternoon in February . 82 
To an Old Danish Song- 
Book 82 

Walter von dee Vogel- 

weid. ". 83 

Drinking Song 84 

The Old Clock on the 

Stairs 85 

The Arrow and the Song 86 
Sonnets. 

Mezzo Cammin 86 

The Evening Star ... 86 

Autumn 87 

Dante 87 

Curfew 87 



EVANGELINE 
ACADIE . 



A TALE OF 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRE- 




XV. Hiawatha's Lamenta- 




SIDE. 




tion 


185 


Dedication 

Br the Seaside. 
The Building op the Ship 
Seaweed . . . . . . . 

Chkysaor 

The Secret op the Sea 
Twilight . ... . . ■■>. 

Sir Humphrey Gdlbert . . 


119 

120 
126 
127 
127 

128 

128 


XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis . . .188 
XVII. The Hunting op Pau- 
Puk-Keewis . . . .192 
XVIII. The Death of Kwasind 197 

XIX. The Ghosts 199 

XX. The Famine 202 

XXI. The White Man's Foot 204 
XXII. Hiawatha's Departure 207 


The Lighthouse . . . . 


129 


THE COURTSHIP OF MLLES 




The Fire op Drdjt-Wood . 


130 


STANDISH. 




By the Fireside. 

Resignation 

The Builders 

Sand of the Desert in an 

Hour-Glass 

The Open Window . . . 
King Witlap's Drinking- 


131 

132 

132 
133 


I. Miles Standish . . . 
II. Love and Friendshd? . 

III. The Lover's Errand . 

IV. John Alden. .... 
V. The Sailing op the 

Mayflower .... 
VI. Priscilla 


211 
213 
215 

218 

222 
225 


Horn 
Gaspar Beoerra . . . . 
Pegasus in Pound . . . 
Tegner's Drapa . . . . 
Sonnet, on Mrs. Kemble's 


134 
134 
135 
136 


VII. The March op Mdles 

Standish 

VIII. The Spinnlng- Wheel . 
IX. The Wedding-Day . . 


228 
230 
232 


Readings from Shake- 




BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 




speare 

The Singers 

SUSPDHA 

Hymn for my Brother's 
Ordination . . . . . 


136 
137 
137 

137 


Flight the Fdast. 

Birds op Passage .... 

Prometheus, or the Poet's 

Forethought ..... 

Epimetheus, or the Poet's 


235 
236 


SHE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 




Afterthought 237 

The Ladder of St. Augustine 238 


Introduction 


138 


The Phantom Ship .... 


239 


I. The Peace-Pd?e . . . 


139 


The Warden op the Cinque 




II. The Four Winds . . . 


142 


Ports 


239 


III. Hiawatha's Chdldhood . 


146 


Haunted Houses 


240 


IV. Hiawatha and Mudje- 




In the Churchyard at Cam- 




eeewis 


149 


bridge 


241 


V. Hiawatha's Fasting. . 


153 


The Emperor's Bird's-Nest . 


242 


VI. Hiawatha's Friends . . 


157 


The Two Angels 


242 


VII. Hiawatha's Sailing . . 


159 


Daylight and Moonlight . . 


243 


VIII. Hiawatha's Fishing . . 


161 


The Jewish Cemetery . at 




IX. Hiawatha and the 




Newport 


244 


Pearl-Feather . . . 


164 


Oliver Basselin 


245 


X. Hiawatha's Wooing . . 


168 


Victor Galbraith .... 


246 


XI. Hiawatha's Wedding- 




My Lost Youth 


247 


Feast 


171 


The Ropewalk 


248 


XII. The Son op the Even- 




The Golden M^e-Stone . . 


249 


ing Star . . . . . 


175 


Catawba Wine ..... 


250 


XIII. Blessing the Corn- 




Santa Filomena 


251 


fields 


180 


The Discoverer of the North 




XIV. Picture- Writing . i 


183 


Cape ". . 


252 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Daybreak 253 

The Fiftieth Birthday op 
Agassiz ........ 253 

Children 254 

Sandalphon 254 

Flight the Second. 
The Children's Hour . . . 255 

Enceladus 256 

The Cumberland 257 

Snow-Flakes 257 

A Day of Sunshine .... 258 
Something left undone . . 258 
Weariness 258 

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 
Part First. 

Prelude 259 

The Landlord's Tale: Paul 

Revere' s Ride 264 

Interlude 266 

The Student's Tale : The 
Falcon of Ser Federigo . 267 

Interlude 272 

The Spanish Jew's Tale : 
The Legend of Rabbi Ben 

Levi 273 

Interlude 274 

The Sicilian's Tale : King 
Robert of Sicdly .... 275 

Interlude 279 

The Musician's Tale : The 
Saga of King Olaf: 

I. The Challenge of 

Thor 280 

H. King Olaf's Return. 280 

III. Thora of Rimol . . 281 

IV. Queen Sigrid the 

Haughty .... 282 

V. The Skerry of Shrebks 283 

VI. The Wraith of Odin 285 

VII. Iron-Beard . . . .286 

VIII. Gudrun 287 

IX. Thangbrand the 

Prdsst 288 

X. Raud the Strong . . 289 
XI. Bishop Sigurd of Sal- 
ten Fiord .... 290 
XII. King Olaf's Christ- 
mas 291 

XIII. The Building of the 

Long Serpent. . . 292 

XIV. The Crew of the Long 

Serpent 294 



XV. A Little Bird in the 

Air 295 

XVI. Queen Thyri and the 

Angelica Stalks . 295 
XVII. King Svend of the 

Forked Beard . . 296 
XVIII. King Olaf and Earl 

Sigvald 297 

XIX. King Olaf's War- 
Horns 298 

XX. Einar Tamberskelver 299 
XXL King Olaf's Death- 
Drink 300 

XXII. The Nun of Nida- 

ros 300 

Interlude 301 

The Theologian's Tale : Tor- 

quemada 302 

Interlude 307 

The Poet's Tale: The Birds 
of Killingworth .... 307 

Finale 312 

Part Second. 

Prelude 313 

The Sicilian's Tale : The 

Bell of Atri 315 

Interlude 317 

The Spanish Jew's Tale.: 

Kambalu 318 

Interlude 320 

The Student's Tale : The 
Cobbler of Hagenau . . 320 

Interlude 324 

The Musician's Tale : The 
Ballad of Carmilhan . . 324 

Interlude 328 

The Poet's Tale : Lady 

Wentworth 329 

Interlude 332 

The Theologian's Tale : The 
Legend Beautiful . . . 332 

Interlude ,. . . 334 

The Student's Second Tale : 
The Baron of St. Castine 335 

Finale 339 

Part Thhid. 

Prelude 340 

The Spanish Jew's Tale : Az- 
rael ........ 342 

Interlude 342 

The Poet's Tale : Charle- 
magne '. . 343 

Interlude 344 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



The Student's Tale : Emma 

and Eginhard 345 

Interlude .349 

The Theologian's Tale : Eliz- 
abeth 351 

Interlude 356 

The Sicilian's Tale : The 
Monk of Casal-Maggiobe . 357 

Interlude 363 

The Spanish Jew's Second 
Tale: Scanderbeg . . . 363 

Interlude . 365 

The Musician's Tale : The 
Mother's Ghost .... 367 

Interlude 368 

The Landlord's Tale : The 
Rhyme of Sib Christo- 
pher 369 

Finale 372 

FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 

flower-de-luce 373 

Palingenesis 374 

The Bridge op Cloud . . .375 

Hawthorne 376 

Christmas Bells 376 

The Wind over the Chim- 
ney 377 

The Bells op Lynn . . . .378 
Killed at the Ford . . . 378 

Giotto's Tower 379 

To-Morrow 379 

Divina Commedia .... 380 
Noel 381 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Third. 

Fata Morgana 382 

The Haunted Chamber . . 383 

The Meeting 383 

Vox Populi 384 

The Castle-Builder . . . 384 

Changed 384 

The Challenge 384 

The Brook and the Wave . 385 
Aftermath 385 

IHE MASQUE OF PANDORA. 

I. The Workshop of He- 
phaestus 386 

II. Olympus 387 



III. Tower of Prometheus 

on Mount Caucasus . 388 

IV. The Air 390 

V. The House of Epimetheus 390 

VI. In the Garden .... 392 
VII. The House of Epimetheus 396 
VIII. In the Garden . . . .397 

THE HANGING OF THE 

CRANE 399 

MORITURI SALUTAMUS . . 403 

A BOOK OF SONNETS. 

Three Friends of Mine . . 409 

Chaucer . . . 410 

Shakespeare ...... 411 

Milton 411 

Keats 411 

The Galaxy 411 

The Sound of the Sea. . .412 
A Summer Day by the Sea .412 

The Tides 412 

A Shadow 413 

A Nameless Grave .... 413 

Sleep 413 

The Old Bridge at Flor- 
ence 414 

II Ponte Vecchio di Firenze 414 

Nature 414 

In the Churchyard at Tar- 

rytown 414 

Eliot's Oak 415 

The Descent of the Muses . 415 

Venice 415 

The Poets 416 

Parker Cleaveland . . .416 
The Harvest Moon .... 416 
To the River Rhone . . . 417 
The Three Silences of Mo- 
linos 417 

The Two Rivers 417 

Boston 419 

St. John's, Cambridge. . . 419 

Moods 419 

Woodstock Park . . . .419 
The Four Princesses at 

Wilna 4':0 

Holidays 420 

Wapentake 420 

The Broken Oar 421 

The Cross of Snow .... 421 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Fourth. 

Charles Sumner 422 

Travels by the Fireside. . 422 

Cadenabbia 423 

Monte Cassino 423 

Amalfi 425 

The Sermon of St. Francis . 426 

Belisarius 427 

Songo River 428 

KERAMOS 428 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Flight the Fifth. 
The Herons of Elmwood . . 435 

A Dutch Picture 435 

Castles in Spain 436 

Vittoria Colonna .... 438 
The Revenge of Rain-in-the- 

Face 439 

To the River Yvette . . . 439 
The Emperor's Glove . . . 440 
A Ballad of the French 

Fleet 440 

The Leap of Roushan Beg . 441 
Haroun al Raschid . . . 442 

King Trisanku 442 

A Wraith in the Mist . . 442 
The Three Kings .... 443 
Song : ' Stat, stay at home, 

my heart, and re8t ' . . 444 

The White Czar 445 

Delia 445 

ULTIMA THULE. 



Dedication 


446 


Poems. 




Bayard Taylor 


446 


The Chamber over the Gate 446 


From my Arm-Chahi . . . 


447 


JUGURTHA 


448 


The Iron Pen 


448 


Robert Burns 


449 


Helen of Tyre 


450 


Elegiac 


450 


Old St. David's at Radnor 


451 


Folk-Songs. 




The Sifting of Peter . . . 


451 


Maiden and Weathercock 


452 


The Windmill 


453 


The Tide rises, the Tide 




falls 


453 



Sonnets. 

My Cathedral 453 

The Burial of the Poet . . 454 
Night 454 

L'Envoi. 
The Poet and his Songs . . 454 

IN THE HARBOR. 

Becalmed 455 

The Poet's Calendar . . . 455 

Autumn •within 457 

The Four Lakes of Madison 457 
Victor and Vanquished . . 458 

Moonlight 458 

The Children's Crusade . . 459 

Sundown 460 

Chimes 461 

Four by the Clock. . . .461 
Auf Wlsdersehen .... 461 

Elegiac Verse 462 

The City and the Sea . . 463 

Memories 463 

Hermes Trismegistus . . . 464 

To the Avon 465 

President Garfield . . . 465 

My Books 465 

Mad River 466 

Possibility 467 

Decoration Day 467 

A Fragment 467 

Loss and Gain 467 

Inscription on the Shanklin 

Fountain 468 

The Bells of San Blas . . 468 

FRAGMENTS. 

'Neglected record of a 

mind neglected ' . . . . 469 
'o faithful, indefatigable 

TIDES' 469 

'Soft through the silent 
air' 469 

' so from the bosom of dark- 
NESS ' 469 

CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY. 

Introitus 470 

PART I. THE DIVINE TRAG- 
EDY. 
The First Passover. 

I. Vox Clamantis . . . 471 
II. Mount Quarantania . 472 



xn 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



III. The Marriage in Cana 474 

IV. In the Cornfields . . 477 
V. Nazareth 478 

VI. The Sea of Galilee . 480 
VII. The Demoniac of Gad- 

ARA 482 

VIII. Talitha Cumi . . .484 
IX. The Tower of Mag- 

dala 485 

X. The House of Simon 

the Pharisee . . . 487 
The Second Passover. 

I. Before the Gates of 

Mach^erus .... 488 
II. Herod's Banquet-Hall 489 

III. Under the Walls of 

Macilerus .... 491 

IV. NlCODEMUS AT NlGHT . 492 

V. Blind Bartimeus . . 494 

VI. Jacob's Well .... 496 

VII. The Coasts of Gmsa- 

rea Philippi . . . 498 

VIII. The Young Ruler . . 501 

IX. At Bethany .... 502 

X. Born Blind . . . .503 
XI. Simon Magus and 

Helen of Tyre . . 505 
The Thhid Passover. 

I. The Entry into Jeru- 
salem 509 

II. Solomon's Porch . . 510 

III. Lord, is it I? . . .513 

IV. The Garden of Geth- 

semane 515 

V. The Palace of Caia- 

phas 516 

VI. Pontius Pilate . . . 519 

VII. Barabbas in Prison . 520 

VIII. Ecce Homo ..... 520 
IX. Aceldama 522 

X. The Three Crosses . . 523 

XI. The Two Maries . . 525 
XII. The Sea of Galilee . 525 

Epilogue. 

Symbolum Apostolorum . . 528 
First Interlude. 

The Abbot Joachim .... 528 

PART II. THE GOLDEN LE- 
GEND. 

Prologue. 
The Spire of Strasburg Ca- 
thedral 531 



III. 



IV 



The Castle of Vauts- 




BERG ON THE RHINE . 


532 


Court - yard of the 




Castle 


537 


A Farm in the Oden- 




wald 


540 


A Room in the Farm- 




house 


543 


Elsie's Chamber . . . 


545 


The Chamber of Gott- 




lieb and Ursula . . 


546 


A Village Church . . 


518 


A Room in the Farm- 




house 


553 


In the Garden . . . 


554 


A Street in Stras- 




burg 


555 


Square in Front of 




the Cathedral . . 


558 


In the Cathedral . . 


560 


The Nativity : A Mira- 




cle-Play. 




Introitus 


561 


I. Heaven .... 


561 


II. Mary at the 




Well .... 


562 


III. The Angels of 




the Seven Plan- 




ets 


563 


IV. The Wise Men of 




■ the East . . 


5C3 


V. The Flight into 




Egypt .... 


564 


VI. The Slaughter of 




the Innocents . 


565 


VII. Jesus at Play 




with his School- 




mates .... 


566 


VIII. The Village 




School . . . 


567 


IX. Crowned with 




Flowers . . . 


5G8 


Epilogue 


568 


. The Road to Hirschau 509 


The Convent of Hir- 




schau in the Black 




Forest 


570 


The Scriptorium . . 


573 


The Cloistsrs . . . 


574 


The Chapel .... 


576 


The Refectory . . . 


577 


The Neighboring Nun- 




nery 


582 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



V. A Covered Bridge at 

Lucerne 586 

The Devil's Bridge . 588 
The St. Gothard Pass 589 
At the Foot op the 

Alps 590 

The Inn at Genoa. . 593 

At Sea 594 

VI. The School op Salerno 595 
The Farm-house in the 

Odenwald .... 601 
The Castle of Vauts- 
berg on the rhine . 604 
Epilogue. 
The Two Recording Angels 

ascending 606 

Second Interlude. 
Martin Luther 607 

PART III. THE NEW ENG- 
LAND TRAGEDIES. 
John Endicott. 

Prologue 610 

Act 1 611 

Act II 617 

Act III 626 

Act IV 636 

Act V 644 

Giles Corey op the Salem 
Farms. 

Prologue 650 

Act I. 651 

Act II 658 

Act III 666 

Act IV. 674 

Act V 681 

Finale. 
ST. John 685 

JUDAS MACCAB2EUS. 

Act I. The Citadel op An- 
tiochus at Jeru- 
salem ..... 686 
Act II. The Dungeons in the 

Citadel .... 690 
Act III. The Battle - Fdjld 

op Beth-Horon . 694 
Act IV. The Outer Courts op 
the Temple at Je- 
rusalem .... 698 
Act V. The Mountains op 

Ecbatana . . .702 



MICHAEL ANGELO : A FRAG- 
MENT. 
Dedication 705 

Part Fdjst. 

I. Prologue at Ischia . . 705 
Monologue : The Last 

Judgment 709 

II. San Silvestro . . . .711 

III. Cardinal Ippolito . . 713 

IV. BORGO DELLE VeRGINE 

at Naples .... 719 

V. Vittoria Colonna . . 724 
Part Second. 

I. Monologue 730 

Viterbo 732 

Michael Angelo and 

Benvenuto Cellini . 733 
Fra Sebastiano del Pi- 

ombo 738 

V. Palazzo Belvedere . . 744 

VI. Palazzo Cesarini . . 747 
Part Third. 

I. Monologue 750 

II. Vigna di Papa Giulio . 751 
LTI. Bindo Altovtti . . . 756 
IV. In the Coliseum . . . 757 

V. Macello de' Corvi . . 760 
VI. Michael Angelo's Stu- 
dio 767 

VII. The Oaks op Monte 

Luca 768 

Vni. The Dead Christ . . 771 



II. 
III. 



IV. 



TRANSLATIONS. 
Prelude . . 



From the Spanish. 



773 



773 



coplas de manrique , 
Sonnets. 

I. The Good Shepherd. . 780 
II. To-Morrow 781 

III. The Native Land . . 781 

IV. The Image op God . . 781 
V. The Brook 782 

Ancient Spanish Ballads. 

I. Rio Verde, Rio Verde 782 

II. Don Nuno, Count op 

Lara 782 

III. The peasant leaves his 

plough apd3ld . . . 783 
Vida de San Millan ... 784 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



San Miguel, the Convent . 


785 


From the Anglo-Saxon. 




Song : She is a maid op art- 




The Grave 


812 


less GRACE 


786 


Beowulf's Expedition to 




Santa Teresa's Book-Mark . 


786 


Heort 


813 


From the Cancioneros. 




The Soul's Complaint against 




I. Eyes so tristful, eyes 




the Body 


814 


so tristful . . ..-•■. 


786 


From the French. 




II. Some day, some day . 


786 






III. Come, Death, so si- 




Song : Hark ! hark ! . . . 


815 


lent FLYING . . . . 


786 


Song : And whither goest 




IV. Glove of black in white 




THOU, GENTLE SIGH . . . 


815 


HAND BARE . . . . 


787 


The Return of Spring . . 


815 








816 


From the Swedish and Danish. 




The Child Asleep .... 


816 


Passages from Frithiof's 




Death of Archbishop Turpin 817 


Saga. 




The Blind Girl of Castel 




I. Frithiof's Homestbead . 


787 


Cuille 


818 


II. A Sledge - ride on the 




A Christmas Carol . . . 


825 


Ice 


788 


Consolation 


826 


III. Frithiof's Temptation . 


789 


To Cardinal Richelhju . . 


826 


IV. Frithiof's Farewell . 


790 


The Angel and the Child . 


826 


The Children of the Lord's 




On the Terrace of the Aiga- 




Supper . . . 


790 


lades 


837 


King Christian 


799 


To my Brooklet 


828 


The Elected Knight . . . 


799 


Barreges 


828 


Childhood ...... 


800 


Will ever the dear days 




From the German. 




come back again? . . . 


829 


The Happiest Land . . 


801 


At La Chaudeau .... 


829 


The Wave 


80? 


A Quiet Ldte 


830 


The Dead 


802 


The Wine of Jurancon . . 


830 


The Bird and the Ship . 


80? 


Friar Lubin 


830 




803 


Rondel 


831 


Beware! 


803 


My Secret 


831 


Song of the Bell . . . 


804 


From the Italian. 




The Castle by the Sea . 


804 


The Celestial Pilot . . . 


831 


The Black Knight . . . 


804 


The Terrestrial Paradise 


832 


Song of the Silent Land 


805 


Beatrice 


833 


The Luck of Edenhall . 


806 


To-Italy 


834 


The Two Locks of Hair . 


807 


Seven Sonnets and a Can 




The Hemlock Tree . . . 


807 


zone. 





Annie of Tharaw 
The Statue over the Cathe- 
dral Door 808 

The Legend of the Cross- 
bill 809 

The Sea hath its Pearls . 809 
Poetic Aphorisms .... 869 

Silent Love 810 

Blessed are the Dead . .811 
Wanderer's Night-Songs . . 811 

Remorse 811 

Forsaken 812 

Allah 812 



I. The Artist . . . .834 
II. Fire 835 

III. Youth and Age . . 835 

IV. Old Age ..... 835 

V. TO VlTTORIA COLONNA 836 
VI. TO VlTTORIA COLONNA 836 

VII. Dante 836 

VIII. Canzone 837 

The Nature of Love . . 837 

From the Portuguese. 
Song : If thou art sleep- 
ing, MAIDEN 837 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



jv 



Fhom Eastebn Soubcbs. 




VlBGIL'S FlBST ECLOGCH . 


. 840 


The Fugitivb 


. 838 


Ovid in Exile 


. 842 


The Siege op Kazan . . 


. 839 






The Boy and the Bbook . 


. 839 


INDEX OF FIRST LINES . 


. 849 


TO THE StOBK 


. 840 






Fbou thb Latijc. 




INDEX OF TITLES. . . . 


. 857 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 

Horvia, irorvia vv£, 

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EmUPIDES 



PRELUDE 

Pleasant it was, when woods 
were green 
And winds were soft and low, 
To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
Where, the long drooping boughs 

between, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
Alternate come and go ; 

Or where the denser grove receives 

No sunlight from above, 
But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 10 
Underneath whose sloping eaves 
The shadows hardly move. 

Beneath some patriarchal tree 

I lay upon the ground ; 
His hoary arms uplifted he, 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 

With one continuous sound ; — 

A slumberous sound, a sound that 
brings 

The feelings of a dream, 20 

As of innumerable wings, 
As, when a bell no longer swings, 
Faint the hollow murmur rings 

O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 

And dreams of that which cannot 
die, 
Bright visions, came to me, 



As lapped in thought I used to 

lie, 
And gaze into the summer sky, 
Where the sailing clouds went by, 
Like ships upon the sea ; 30 

Dreams that the soul of youth en- 



Ere Fancy has been quelled ; 
Old legends of the monkish page, 
Traditions of the saint and sage, 
Tales that have the rime of age, 

And chronicles of eld. 

And, loving still these quaint old 
themes, 
Even in the city's throng 
I feel the freshness of the streams, 
That, crossed by shades and sunny 
gleams, 40 

Water the green land of dreams, 
The holy land of song. 

Therefore, at Pentecost, which 
brings 
The Spring, clothed like a bride, 
When nestling buds unfold their 

wings, 
And bishop's - caps have golden 

rings, 
Musing upon many things, 
I sought the woodlands wide. 

The green trees whispered low 
and mild ; 
It was a sound of joy ! 50 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



They were my playmates when a 

child, 
And rocked me in their arms so 

wild! 
Still they looked at me and smiled, 
As if I were a boy ; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
' Come, be a child once more ! ' 

And waved their long arms to and 
fro, 

And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 

Oh, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodlands hoar, — 60 

Into the blithe and breathing air, 

Into the solemn wood, 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
Nature with folded hands seemed 

there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 

Like one in prayer I stood. 

Before me rose an avenue 

Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
Abroad their fan -like branches 

grew, 
And, where the sunshine darted 
through, 70 

Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
In long and sloping lines. 

And, falling on my weary brain, 
Like a fast-falling shower, 

The dreams of youth came back 
again, — 

Low lispings of the summer rain, 

Dropping on the ripened grain, 
As once upon the flower. 

Visions of childhood! Stay, oh, 
stay! 

Ye were so sweet and wild ! 80 
And distant voices seemed to say, 
' It cannot be ! They pass away ! 
Other themes demand thy lay ; 

Thou art no more a child ! 

'The land of Song within thee lies, 

Watered by living springs ; 
The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 



Are gates unto that Paradise ; 
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise ; 
Its clouds are angels' wings, go 

'Learn, that henceforth thy song 
shall be, 
Not mountains capped with 
snow, 
Nor forests sounding like the sea, 
Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 
Where the woodlands bend to see 
The bending heavens below. 

' There is a forest where the din 

Of iron branches sounds ! 
A mighty river roars between, 
And whosoever looks therein 100 
Sees the heavens all black with 
sin, 
Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 

'Athwart the swinging branches 
cast, 
Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 
Then comes the fearful wintry 

blast ; 
Our hopes, like withered leaves, 

fall fast; 
Pallid lips say, ' It is past ! 
We can return no more ! ' 

' Look, then, into thine heart, and 
write r 

Yes, into Life's deep stream ! no 
All forms of sorrow and delight, 
All solemn Voices of the Night, 
That can soothe thee, or affright, — 

Be these henceforth thy theme.' 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT 

'Ao"7raert77, rpi\\i(Tros 

I heard the trailing garments of 
the Night 
Sweep through her marble halls! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed 
with light 
From the celestial walls ! 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS 



I felt her presence, by its spell of 


Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 


might, 


Was not spoken of the soul. 


Stoop o'er me from above ; 




The calm, majestic presence of the 


Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. 


Night, 


Is our destined end or way ; 


As of the one I love. 


But to act, that each to-morrow 




Find us farther than to-day. 


I heard the sounds of sorrow and 




delight, 


Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 


The manifold, soft chimes, 


And our hearts, though stout and 


That fill the haunted chambers of 


brave, 


the Night, 


Still, like muffled drums, are beat- 


Like some old poet's rhymes. 


ing 




Funeral marches to the grave. 


From the cool cisterns of the mid- 




night air 


In the world's broad field of battle, 


My spirit drank repose ; 


In the bivouac of Life, 


The fountain of perpetual peace 


Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 


flows there, — 


Be a hero in the strife ! 


From those deep cisterns flows. 






Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 


holy Night ! from thee I learn to 


Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 


bear 


Act, — act in the living Present! 


What man has borne before ! 


Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 


Thou layest thy finger on the lips 




of Care, 


Lives of great men all remind us 


And they complain no more. 


We can make our lives sublime, 




And, departing, leave behind lis 


Peace ! Peace ! Orestes - like I 


Footprints on the sands of time ; 


breathe this prayer ! 




Descend with broad - winged 


Footprints, that perhaps another, 


flight, 


Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 


The welcome, the thrice - prayed 


A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 


for, the most fair, 


Seeing, shall take heart again. 


The bestbeloved Night ! 






Let us, then, be up and doing, 




With a heart for any fate ; 


A PSALM OF LIFE 


Still achieving, still pursuing, 




Learn to labor and to wait. 


WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG 




MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST 






THE REAPER AND THE 


Tell me not, in mournful num- 


FLOWEES 


bers, 




Life is but an empty dream ! — 


There is a Reaper, whose name 


For the soul is dead that slumbers, 


is Death, 


And things are not what they 


And, with his sickle keen, 


seem. 


He reaps the bearded grain at a 




breath, 


Life is real'. Life is earnest ! 


And the flowers that grow be- 


And the grave is not its goal ; 


tween. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



' Shall I have naught that is fair?' 


And the first watch of night is 


saith he ; 


given 


'Have naught but the bearded 


To the red planet Mars. 


grain? 




Though the breath of these flowers 


Is it the tender star of love ? 


is sweet to me, 


The star of love and dreams? 


I will give them all back again.' 


Oh ho ! from that blue tent above 




A hero's armor gleams. 


He gazed at the flowers with tear- 




ful eyes, 


And earnest thoughts within me 


He kissed their drooping leaves ; 


rise, 


It was for the Lord of Paradise 


When I behold afar, 


He bound them in his sheaves. 


Suspended in the evening skies, 




The shield of that red star. 


4 My Lord has need of these flower- 




ets gay,' 


star of strength ! I see thee 


The Reaper said, and smiled ; 


stand 


Dear tokens of the earth are they, 


And smile upon my pain ; 


"Where He was once a child. 


Thou beckonest with thy mailed 




hand, 


'They shall all bloom in fields of 


And I am strong again. 


light, 




Transplanted by my care, 


Within my breast there is no light 


And saints, upon their garments 


But the cold light of stars ; 


white, 


I give the first watch of the night 


These sacred blossoms wear.' 


To the red planet Mars. 


And the mother gave, in tears and 


The star of the unconquered will, 


pain, 


He rises in my breast, 


The flowers she most did love ; 


Serene, and resolute, and still, 


She knew she should find them all 


And calm and self-possessed. 


again 




In the fields of light above. 


And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 




That readest this brief psalm, 


Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 


As one by one thy hopes depart, 


The Eeaper came that day ; 


Be resolute and calm. 


'T was an angel visited the green 




earth, 


Oh, fear not in a world like this, 


And took the flowers away. 


And thou shalt know erelong, 




Know how sublime a thing it is 




To suffer and be strong. 


THE LIGHT OF STARS 




The night is come, but not too 


FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 


And sinking silently, 


When the hours of Day are num- 


All silently, the little moon 


bered, 


Drops down behind the sky. 


And the voices of the Night 




Wake the better soul, that slum. 


There is no light in earth or heaven 


bered, 


But the cold light of stars ; 


To a holy, calm delight ; 



FLOWERS 



Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who 
cherished 

Noble longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished, 

Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beaute- 
ous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 
More than all things else to love 
me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes, 
Like the stars, so still and saint- 
like, 
Looking downward from the 
skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and 
lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 
Such as these have lived and 
died! 



FLOWEKS 

Spake full well, in language quaint 
and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled 
Bhine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue 
and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament 
do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read 
our history, 
As astrologers and seers of 
eld; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful 
mystery, 
Like the burning stars, which 
they beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as 
wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars 
above ; 
But not less in the bright flowerets 
under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revela- 
tion, 
Written all over this great world 
of ours ; 
Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth, these 
golden flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-see- 
ing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, 
a part 
Of the self-same, universal being, 
Which is throbbing in his brain 
and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight 
shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of 
day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and 
silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 



Brilliant hopes, all woven in gor- 


In the cottage of the rudest pea* 


geous tissues, 


sant, 


Flaunting gayly in the golden 


In ancestral homes, whose crum. 


light; 


bling towers, 


Large desires, with most uncertain 


Speaking of the Past unto the Pre- 


issues, 


sent, 


Tender wishes, blossoming at 


Tell us of the ancient Games of 


night ! 


Flowers ; 


These in flowers and men are more 


In all places, then, and in all sea- 


than seeming, 


sons, 


Workings are they of the self- 


Flowers expand their light and 


same powers, 


soul-like wings, 


Which the Poet, in no idle dream- 


Teaching us, by most persuasive 


ing, 


reasons, 


Seeth in himself and in the flow- 


How akin they are to human 


ers. 


things. 


Everywhere about us are they 


And with childlike, credulous af- 


glowing, 


fection, 


Some like stars, to tell us Spring 


We behold their tender buds ex- 


is borii ; 


pand; 


Others, their blue eyes with tears 


Emblems of our own great resur- 


o'erflowing, 


rection, 


Stand like Euth amid the golden 


Emblems of the bright and better 


corn; 


land. 


Not alone in Spring's armorial 
bearing, 


THE BELEAGUERED CITY 


And in Summer's green -embla- 


I have read, in some old, marvel- 


zoned field, 


lous tale, 


But in arms of brave old Autumn's 


Some legend strange and vague, 


wearing, 


That a midnight host of spectres 


In the centre of his brazen shield; 


pale 




Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 


Not alone in meadows and green 




alleys, 


Beside the Moldau's rushing 


On the mountain-top, and by the 


stream, 


brink 


With the wan moon overhead, 


Of sequestered pools in woodland 


There stood, as in an awful dream, 


valleys, 


The army of the dead. 


Where the slaves of nature stoop 




to drink ; 


White as a sea -fog, landward 




bound, 


Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 


The spectral camp was seen, 


Not on graves of bird and beast 


And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 


alone, 


The river flowed between. 


But in old cathedrals, high and 




hoary, 


No other voice nor sound waa 


On the tombs of heroes, carved 


there, 


in stone ; 


No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR 



The mist-like banners clasped the 
air 
As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But when the old cathedral bell 
Proclaimed the morning prayer, 

The white pavilions rose and fell 
On the alarmed air. 

Down the broad valley fast and 
far 

The troubled army fled ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous 
heart of man, 
That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast 
and wan 
Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing 
stream, 
In Fancy's misty light, 
Gigantic shapes and shadows 
gleam 
Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 
The spectral camp is seen, 

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
Flows the Eiver of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there, 
In the army of the grave ; 

No other challenge breaks the 
air, 
But the rushing of Life's wave. 

And when the solemn and deep 
church-bell 
Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the 
spell, 
The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 
The spectral camp is fled ; 

Faith shineth as a morning star, 
Our ghastly fears are dead. 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR 
DYING YEAR 



THE 



Yes, the Year is growing old, 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 

Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely, sorely ! 

The leaves are falling, falling, 

Solemnly and slow ; 
Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, 

It is a sound of woe, 
A sound of woe ! 

Through woods and mountain 



The winds, like anthems, roll ; 
They are chanting solemn masses, 
Singing, ' Pray for this poor soul, 
Pray, pray ! ' 

And the hooded clouds, like fri- 
ars, 
Tell their beads in drops of 
rain, 
And patter their doleful prayers ; 
But their prayers are all in vain, 
All in vain ! 

There he stands in the foul wea- 
ther, 
The foolish, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild flowers and 
with heather, 
Like weak, despised Lear, 
A king, a king ! 

Then comes the summer-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy ! his last ! Oh, the old man 
gray 
Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
Gentle and low. 

To the crimson woods he saith, 

To the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air, like a daughter's 
breath, 
' Pray do not mock me so ! 
Do not laugh at me ! ' 



EARLIER POEMS 



And now the sweet clay is dead ; 


Howl! howl! and from the for- 


Cold in his arms it lies ; 


est 


No stain from its breath is spread 


Sweep the red leaves away ! 


Over the glassy skies, 


Would the sins that thou abhor- 


No mist or stain ! 


rest, 




soul ! could thus decay, 


Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 


And be swept away ! 


And the forests utter a moan, 




Like the voice of one who crieth 


For there shall come a mightier 


In the wilderness alone, 


blast, 


' Vex not his ghost ! ' 


There shall be a darker day ; 




And the stars, from heaven down- 


Then comes, with an awful roar, 


cast 


Gathering and sounding on, 


Like red leaves be swept away ! 


The storm-wind from Labrador, 


Kyrie, eleyson ! 


The wind Euroclydon, 


Christe, eleyson ! 


The storm-wind ! 





EARLIER POEMS 



AN APRIL DAY 

When the warm sun, that 
brings 
Seed-time and harvest, has re- 
turned again, 
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, 
where springs 
The first flower of the plain. 

I love the season well* 
When forest glades are teeming 

with bright forms, 
Nor dark and many-folded clouds 
foretell 
The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened 
mould 
The sapling draws its sustenance, 

and thrives ; 
Though stricken to the heart with 
winter's cold, 
The drooping tree revives. 

The softly-warbled song 
Comes from the pleasant woods, 
and colored wings 



Glance quick in the bright sun, 
that moves along 
The forest openings. 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the 

green slope throws 
Its shadows in the hollows of the 
hills, 
And wide the upland glows. 

And when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er- 

reaching far, 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips 
her horn, 
And twinkles many a star. 

Inverted in the tide 
Stand the gray rocks, and trem- 
bling shadows throw, 
And the fair trees look over, side 
by side, 
And see themselves below. 

Sweet April ! many a thought 
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are 
wed; 



WOODS IN WINTER 



Nor shall they fail, till, to its au- 


The golden robin moves. The 


tumn brought, 


purple finch, 


Life's golden fruit is shed. 


That on wild cherry and red cedar 




feeds, 


AUTUMN 


A winter bird, comes with its 




plaintive whistle, 


With what a glory comes and 


And pecks by the witch-hazel. 


goes the year ! 


whilst aloud 


The buds of spring, those beauti- 


From cottage roofs the warbling 


ful harbingers 


bluebird sings, 


Of sunny skies and cloudless 


And merrily, with oft-repeated 


times, enjoy 


stroke, 


Life's newness, and earth's garni- 


Sounds from the threshing-floor 


ture spread out; 


the busy flail. 


And when the silver habit of the 




clouds 


Oh, what a glory doth this 


Comes down upon the autumn sun, 


world put on 


and with 


For him who, with a fervent heart, 


A sober gladness the old year 


goes forth 


takes up 


Under the bright and glorious sky, 


His bright inheritance of golden 


and looks 


fruits, 


On duties well performed, and days 


A pomp and pageant fill the splen- 


well spent ! 


did scene. 


For him the wind, ay, and the yel- 




low leaves, 


There is a beautiful spirit breath- 


Shall have a voice, and give him 


ing now 


eloquent teachings. 


Its mellow richness on the clus- 


He shall so hear the solemn hymn 


tered trees, 


that Death 


And, from a beaker full of richest 


Has lifted up for all, that he shall 


dyes, 


go 


Fouring new glory on the autumn 


To his long resting-place without 


woods, 


a tear. 


And dipping in warm light the pil- 




lared clouds. 




Morn on the mountain, like a sum- 


WOODS IN WINTEE 


mer bird, 




Lifts up her purple wing, and in 


When winter winds are piercing 


the vales 


chill, 


The gentle wind, a sweet and pas- 


And through the hawthorn blows 


sionate wooer, 


the gale, 


Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs 


With solemn feet I tread the hill, 


up life 


That overcrows the lonely vale. 


Within the solemn woods of ash 




deep-crimsoned, 


O'er the bare upland, and away 


And silver beech, and maple yel- 


Through the long reach of desert 


low-leaved, 


woods, 


Where Autumn, like a faint old 


The embracing sunbeams chastely 


man, sits down 


play, 


By the wayside a-weary. Through 


And gladden these deep soli- 


the trees 


tudes. 



EARLIER POEMS 



"Where, twisted round the barren 
oak, 
The summer vine in beauty 
clung, 
And summer winds the stillness 
broke, 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, 
mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual 
tide, 
Shrilly the skater's iron rings, 
And voices fill the woodland 
side. 

Alas ! how changed from the fair 
scene, 
When birds sang out their mel- 
low lay, 
And winds were soft, and woods 
were green, 
And the song ceased not with 
the day ! 

But still wild music is abroad, 
Pale, desert woods ! within your 
crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse 
accord, 
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds! my 
ear 
Has grown familiar with your 
song; 
I hear it in the opening year, 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 



HYMN OF THE MOEAVIAN 
NUNS OF BETHLEHEM 



AT THE CONSECRATION OF PU- 
LASKI'S BANNER 

When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray, 
Far the glimmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head; 



And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The crimson banner, that with 

prayer 
Had been consecrated there. 
And the nuns' sweet hymn was 

heard the while, 
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious 

aisle. 

' Take thy banner! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave ; 
When the battle's distant wail . 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering 
breaks. 

4 Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
The battle - cloud's encircling 

wreath, 
Guard it, till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee 

then. 

'Take thy banner! But when 

night 
Closes round the ghastly fight, 
If the vanquished warrior bow, 
Spare him ! By our holy vow, 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears, 
Spare him! he our love hath 

shared ! 
Spare him! as thou would st be 

spared ! 

' Take thy banner ! and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's 

bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for 

thee.' 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY 



The warrior took that banner 

proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and 

shroud ! 

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS 

I stood upon the hills, when 

heaven's wide arch 
Was glorious with the sun's return- 
ing march, 
And woods were brightened, and 

soft gales 
"Went forth to kiss the sun-clad 

vales. 
The clouds were far beneath me ; 

bathed in light, 
They gathered midway round the 

wooded height, 
And, in their fading glory, shone 
Like hosts in battle overthrown, 
As many a pinnacle, with shifting 

glance, 
Through the gray mist thrust up 

its shattered lance, 
And rocking on the cliff was left 
The dark pine blasted, bare, and 

cleft 
The veil of cloud was lifted, and 

below 
Glowed the rich valley, and the 

river's flow 
Was darkened by the forest's 

shade, 
Or glistened in the white cascade ; 
Where upward, in the mellow 

blush of day, 
The noisy bittern wheeled his spi- 
ral way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, 
I saw the current whirl and flash, 
And richly, by the blue lake's sil- 
ver beach, 
The woods were bending with a si- 
lent reach. 
Then o'er the vale, with gentle 

swell, 
The music of the village bell 
Came sweetly to the echo-giving 
hills ; 



And the wild horn, whose voice 

the woodland fills, 
Was ringing to the merry shout 
That faint and far the glen sent 

out, 
Where, answering to the sudden 

shot, thin smoke, 
Through thick -leaved branches, 

from the dingle broke. 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst 

forget, 
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that 

will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy 

soul from sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills! No 

tears 
Dim the sweet look that Nature 

wears. 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY 

There is a quiet spirit in these 
woods, 

Tbat dwells where'er the gentle 
south-wind blows ; 

Where, underneath the white- 
thorn in the glade, 

The wild flowers bloom, or, kiss- 
ing the soft air, 

The leaves above their sunny 
palms outspread. 

With what a tender and impas- 
sioned voice 

It fills the nice and delicate ear of 
thought, 

When the fast ushering star of 
morning comes 

O'er -riding the gray hills with 
golden scarf ; 

Or when the cowled and dusky- 
sandalled Eve, 

In mourning weeds, from out the 
western gate, 

Departs with silent pace ! That 
spirit moves 

In the green valley, where the sil- 
ver brook, 



EARLIER POEMS 



From its full laver, pours the white 


My busy fancy oft embodies it, 


cascade ; 


As a bright image of the light and 


And, babbling low amid the tan- 


beauty 


gled woods, 


That dwell in nature ; of the hea- 


Slips down through moss-grown 


venly forms 


stones with endless laughter. 


We worship in our dreams, and 


And frequent, on the everlasting 


the soft hues 


hills, 


That stain the wild bird's wing, 


Its feet go forth, when it doth 


and flush the clouds 


wrap itself 


When the sun sets. Within her 


In all the dark embroidery of the 


tender eye 


storm, 


The heaven of April, with its 


And shouts the stern, strong wind. 


changing light, 


And here, amid 


And when it wears the blue of 


The silent majesty of these deep 


May, is hung, 


woods, 


And on her lip the rich, red rose. 


Its presence shall uplift thy 


Her hair 


thoughts from earth, 


Is like the summer tresses of the 


As to the sunshine and the pure, 


trees, 


bright air 


When twilight makes them brown, 


Their tops the green trees lift. 


and on her cheek 


Hence gifted bards 


Blushes the richness of an autumn 


Have ever loved the calm and 


sky, 


quiet shades. 


With ever-shifting beauty. Then 


For them there was an eloquent 


her breath, 


voice in all 


It is so like the gentle air of 


The sylvan pomp of woods, the 


Spring, 


golden sun, 


As, from the morning's dewy flow- 


The flowers, the leaves, the river 


ers, it comes 


on its way, 


Full of their fragrance, that it is a 


Blue skies, and silver clouds, and 


joy 


gentle winds, 


To have it round us, and her silver 


The swelling upland, where the 


voice 


sidelong sun 


Is the rich music of a summer 


Aslant the wooded slope, at even- 


bird, 


ing, goes, 


Heard in the still night, with its 


Groves, through whose broken 


passionate cadence. 


roof the sky looks in, 




Mountain, and shattered cliff, and 




sunny vale, 


BTJKIAL OF THE MINNI- 


The distant lake, fountains, and 


SINK 


mighty trees, 




In many a lazy syllable, repeat- 


On sunny slope and beechen 


ing 


swell, 


Their old poetic legends to the 


The shadowed light of evening fell ; 


wind. 


And, where the maple's leaf was 




brown, 


And this is the sweet spirit, that 


With soft and silent lapse came 


doth fill 


down, 


The world ; and, in these wayward 


The glory, that the wood receives, 


days of youth, 


At sunset, in its golden leaves. 



L'ENVOI 



13 



Far upward in the mellow light 


Stripped of his proud and martial 


Eose the hlue hills. One cloud of 


dress, 


white, 


Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, 


Around a far uplifted cone, 


With darting eye, and nostril 


In the warm blush of evening 


spread, 


shone ; 


And heavy and impatient tread, 


An image of the silver lakes, 


He came ; and oft that eye so 


By which the Indian's soul awakes. 


proud 




Asked for his rider in the crowd. 


But soon a funeral hymn was 




heard 


They buried the dark chief ; they 


"Where the soft breath of evening 


freed 
Besidentire grave his battle steed ; 


stirred 


The tall, gray forest ; and a band 


And swift an arrow cleaved its 


Of stern in heart, and strong in 


way 


hand, 


To his stern heart ! One piercing 


Came winding down beside the 


neigh 


wave, 


Arose, and, on the dead man's 


To lay the red chief in his grave. 


plain, 




The rider grasps his steed again. 


They sang, that by his native 




bowers 




He stood, in the last moon of flow- 


L'ENVOI 


And thirty snows had not yet 


Ye voices, that arose 


shed 


After the Evening's close, 


Their glory on the warrior's head ; 


And whispered to my restless 


But, as the summer fruit decays, 


heart repose ! 


So died he in those naked days. 






Oo, breathe it in the ear 


A dark cloak of the roebuck's 


Of all who doubt and fear, 


skin 


And say to them, 'Be of good 


Covered the warrior, and within 


cheer ! ' 


Its heavy folds the weapons, 




made 


Ye sounds, so low and calm, 


For the hard toils of war, were 


That in the groves of balm 


laid; 


Seemed to me like an angel's 


The cuirass, woven of plaited 


psalm ! 


reeds, 




And the broad belt of shells and 


Go, mingle yet once more 


beads. 


With the perpetual roar 




Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! 


Before, a dark-haired virgin train 




Chanted the death dirge of the 


Tongues of the dead, not lost, 


slain ; 


But speaking from death's frost, 


Behind, the long procession came 


Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 


Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 




With heavy hearts, and eyes of 


Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 


grief, 


Amid the chills and damps 


Leading the war-horse of their 


Of the vast plain where Death en- 


chief. 


camps ! 



14 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



THE SKELETON IN AEMOE 

' Speak ! speak ! thou fearful 

guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? ' 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 10 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

* I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 20 

Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 

' Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 30 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

' Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 40 



' But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

' Many a wassail-bbut 

Wore the long Winter out ; 50 

Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Filled to o'erflowing. 

' Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender ; 60 

And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

' I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 70 

Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

' Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 8o 

' While the hrown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES 



19 



Maiden, that read'st this simple 


GOD'S-ACRE 


rhyme, 




Enjoy thy youth, it will not 


I like that ancient Saxon phrase, 


stay ; 


which calls 


Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 


The burial-ground God's-Acre! 


For oh, it is not always May ! 


It is just ; 




It consecrates each grave within 


Enjoy the Spring of Love and 


its walls, 


Youth, 


And breathes a benison o'er the 


To some good angel leave the 
rest ; 
For Time will teach thee soon the 


sleeping dust. 


God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed 


truth, 


name imparts 


There are no birds in last year's 


Comfort to those who in the 


nest! 


grave have sown 




The seed that they had garnered 




in their hearts, 


THE RAINY DAY 


Their bread of life, alas ! ho more 




their own. 


The day is cold, and dark, and 




dreaiy ; 


Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 


It rains, and the wind is never 


In the sure faith, that we shall 


weary ; 


rise again 


The vine still clings to the moulder- 


At the great harvest, when the 


ing wall, 


archangel's blast 


But at every gust the dead leaves 


Shall winnow, like a fan, the 


fall, 


chaff and grain. 


And the day is dark anu 




dreary. 


Then shall the good stand in im- 




mortal bloom, 


My life is cold, and dark, and 


In the fair gardens of that second 


dreary ; 


birth ; 


It rains, and the wind is never 


And each bright blossom mingle 


weary ; 


its perfume 


My thoughts still cling to the 


With that of flowers, which 


mouldering Past, 


never bloomed on earth. 


But the hopes of youth fall thick 




in the blast, 


"With thy rude ploughshare, Death, 


And the days are dark and 


turn up the sod, 


dreary. 


And spread the furrow for the 




seed we sow ; 


Be still, sad heart! and cease re- 


This is the field and Acre of our 


pining ; 


God, 


Behind the clouds is the sun still 


This is the place where human 


shining ; 


harvests grow. 


Thy fate is the common fate of 




all, 


TO THE RIVER CHARLES 


Into each life some rain must 




fall, 


River ! that in silence windest 


Some days must be dark and 


Through the meadows, bright 


dreary. 


and free. 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 
Half in rest, and half in strife, 

I have seen thy waters stealing 
Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast heen a generous giver ; 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 
I have watched thy current 
glide, 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter, 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
And leap onward with thy 
stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands 
hide thee, 
And thy waters disappear, 
Friends I love have dwelt beside 
thee, 
And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name re- 
minds me 
Of three friends, all true and 
tried ; 
A.nd that name, like magic, binds 
me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remem- 
bers ! 
How like quivering flames they 
start, 
When I fan the living embers 
On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 



'T is for this, thou Silent Eiver! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 



BLIND BARTIMEUS 

Blind Bartimeus at the gates 
Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
He hears the crowd ; — he hears a 

breath 
Say, ' It is Christ of Nazareth ! ' 
And calls, in tones of agony, 
'IrjaoVy iAe7}<r6v fie I 

The thronging multitudes in- 
crease ; 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd, 
The beggar's cry is shrill and 

loud ; 
Until they say, ' He calleth thee ! ' 
Octpcrer iyeipai, (pwvsi ae ! 

Then saith the Christ, as silent 

stands 
The crowd, ' What wilt thou at my 

hands ? ' 
And he replies, ' Oh, give me light! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's 

sight.' 
And Jesus answers, "Tiraye" 
'H Trlaris aov (x4(Xcok4 <re / 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot 

see, 
In darkness and in misery, 
Recall those mighty Voices Three, 
'irjcrov, e\€7](r6u /xe ! 
Sdpaei' Hyeipui, viraye ! 
'H Triaris aov cecrco/ce <T€ / 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE 

Filled is Life's goblet to the 

brim ; 
And though my eyes with tears 

are dim, 



MAIDENHOOD 



I see its sparkling bubbles swim, 
And chant a melancholy hymn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

No purple flowers, — no garlands 
green, 

Conceal the goblet's shade or 
sheen, 

Nor maddening draughts of Hip- 
pocrene, 

Like gleams of sunshine, flash be- 
tween 
Thick leaves of mistletoe. 

This goblet, wrought with curious 

art, 
Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
,When the deep fountains of the 

heart, 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 
Are running all to waste. 

And as it mantling passes round, 
"With fennel is it wreathed and 

crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-im- 

browned 
Are in its waters steeped and 

drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 

Above the lowly plants it towers, 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous 
powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 

It gave new strength, and fearless 

mood; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the colored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 
New light and strength they 
give .' 



And he who has not leai^ 

know 
How false its sparkling bubbles 

show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe, 
With which its brim may overflow, 
He has not learned to live. 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 

Through all that dark and desper- 
ate fight, 

The blackness of that noonday 
night, 

He asked but the return of sight, 
To see his foeman's face. 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light,— for strength to 

bear 
Our portion of the weight of care, 
That crushes into dumb despair 
One hah! the human race. 

O suffering, sad humanity ! 

ye afflicted ones, who lie 
Steeped to the lips in misery, 
Longing, and yet afraid to die, 

Patient, though sorely tried ! 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
Where floats the fennel's bitter 1 

leaf! 
The Battle of our Life is brief, 
The alarm, — the struggle, — the 

relief, 
Then sleep we side by side. 



MAIDENHOOD 

When writing to his father of the ap- 
pearance of his new volume of poems, 
Mr. Longfellow said : ' I think the last 
two pieces the best, — perhaps as good 
as anything I have written.' These 
pieces were the following and Excel- 
sior. 

Maiden! with the meek, brown 

eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies I 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 



. .ou whose locks outshine the 

sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
A.s the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 
On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indeci- 
sion, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove, with startled eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

Oh, thou child of many prayers ! 
Life hath quicksands, — Life hath 

snares ! 
Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet 

tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where 
slumbered 

Birds and blossoms many-num- 
bered ; — 

Age, that bough with snows en- 
cumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that 

grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 



Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and 

ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



EXCELSIOR 

The shades of night were falling 

fast, 
As through an Alpine village 

passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and 

ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad; his eye be- 
neath, 

Flashed like a falchion from its 
sheath, 

And like a silver clarion rung 

The accents of that unknown 
tongue, 

Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and 

bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

'Try not the Pass!' the old man 
said; 

' Dark lowers the tempest over- 
head, 

The roaring torrent is deep and 
wide ! ' 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM 



23 



And loud that clarion voice re- 


At break of day, as heavenward 


plied, 


The pious monks of Saint Bernard 


Excelsior ! 


Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 




A voice cried through the startled 


'Oh stay,' the maiden said, 'and 


air, 


rest 


Excelsior ! 


Thy weary head upon this breast ! ' 




A tear stood in his bright blue 


A traveller, by the faithful hound, 


eye, 


Half-buried in the snow was found, 


But still he answered, with a sigh, 


Still grasping in his hand of ice 


Excelsior ! 


That banner with the strange de- 
vice, 

Excelsior ! 


'Beware the pine-tree's withered 


branch .' 




Beware the awful avalanche ! ' 


There in the twilight cold and gray, 


This was the peasant's last Good- 


Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 


night, 


And from the sky, serene and far, 


A voice replied, far up the height, 


A voice fell, like a falling star, 


Excelsior ! 


Excelsior ! 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 



TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING 

The pages of thy book I read, 
And as I closed each one, 

My heart, responding, ever said, 
' Servant of God ! well done ! ' 

Well done ! Thy words are great 
and bold ; 

At times they seem to me, 
Like Luther's, in the days of old, 

Half-battles for the free. 

Go on, until this land revokes 
The old and chartered Lie, 

The feudal curse, whose whips 
and yokes 
Insult humai ; ty. 

A voice is ever " t thy side 
Speaking in to .es of might, 

Like the prophet ic voice, that cried 
To John in Pa mos, ' Write ! ' 

Write! and tell o, t this bloody tale; 
Record this dir eclipse, 



This Day of Wrath, this Endless 
Wail, 
This dread Apocalypse ! 

THE SLAVE'S DREAM 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 

His sickle in his hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted 
hair 
Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of 
sleep, 
He saw his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his 
dreams 

The lordly Niger flowed ; 
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 

Once more a king he strode ; 
And heard the tinkling caravans 

Descend the mountain road. 

He saw once more his dark-eyed 
queen 
Among her children stand ; 



24 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 



They clasped his neck, they kissed 
his cheeks, 

They held him by the hand ! — 
A tear hurst from the sleeper's lids 

And fell into the sand. 

And then at furious speed he rode 

Along the Niger's bank ; 
His bridle-reins were golden 
chains, 
And, with a martial clank, 
At each leap he could feel his scab- 
bard of steel 
Smiting his stallion's flank. 

Before him, like a blood-red flag, 

The bright flamingoes flew ; 
From morn till night he followed 
their flight, 
O'er plains where the tamarind 
grew, 
Till he saw the roofs of Caff re huts, 
And the ocean rose to view. 

At night he heard the lion roar, 

And the hyena scream, 
And the river-horse, as he crushed 
the reeds 
Beside some hidden stream ; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll 
of drums, 
Through the triumph of his 
dream. 

The forests, with their myriad 
tongues, 
Shouted of liberty ; 
And the Blast of the Desert cried 
aloud, 
With a voice so wild and free, 
That he started in his sleep and 
smiled 
At their tempestuous glee. 

He did not feel the driver's whip, 
Nor the burning heat of day ; 

For Death had illumined the Land 
of Sleep, 
And his lifeless body lay 

A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
Had broken and thrown away ! 



THE GOOD PART 

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN 
AWAY 

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's 
side, 
In valleys green and cool ; 
And all her hope and all her 
pride 
Are in the village school. 

Her soul, like the transparent air 
That robes the hills above, 

Though not of earth, encircles 
there 
All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her 
girls 

"With praise and mild rebukes ; 
Subduing e'en rude village churls 

By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 
Of One who came to save ; 

To cast the captive's chains aside 
And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time fore- 
tells 

"When all men shall be free ; 
And musical, as silver bells, 

Their falling chains shall be. 

And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet re- 
cord 

And deed of charity. 

For she was rich, api gave up all 

To break the irq*i bands 
Of those who wai id in her hall, 

And labored in er lands. 

Long since beyc id the Southern 
Sea 

Their outbounc sails have sped, 
While she, in me *k humility, 

Now earns hei daily bread. 



THE WITNESSES 



25 



It is their prayers, which never 
cease, 

That clothe her with such grace ; 
Their blessing is the light of peace 

That shines upon her face. 



THE SLAVE IN THE DIS- 
MAL SWAMP 

Ik dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 

The hunted Negro lay ; 
He saw the fire of the midnight 

camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 

And a bloodhound's distant bay. 

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow- 
worms shine, 
In bulrush and in brake ; 
Where waving mosses shroud the 

pine, 
And the cedar grows, and the 
poisonous vine 
Is spotted like the snake ; 

Where hardly a human foot could 
pass, 
Or a human heart would dare, 
On the quaking turf of the green 

morass 
He crouched in the rank and tan- 
gled grass, 
Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand 

of shame, 
And the rags, that hid his mangled 
frame, 
Were the livery of disgrace. 

All things above were bright and 
fair, 
All things were glad and free ; 
Lithe squirrels darted here and 

there, 
And wild birds filled the echoing 
air 
With songs of Liberty ! 



On him alone was the doom of 
pain, 
From the morning of his birth ; 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered 
grain, 
And struck him to the earth ! 

THE SLAVE SINGING AT 
MIDNIGHT 

Loud he sang the psalm of David ! 
He, a Negro and enslaved, 
Sang of Israel's victory, 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calm- 
est, 
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear, 

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyp- 
tians, 
When upon the Eed Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emo- 
tion; 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen. 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon - gates at 
night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 

Brings the Slave this glad evan- 
gel? 

And what earthquake's arm of 
might 

Breaks his dungeon-gates at night? 

THE WITNESSES 

In Ocean's wide domains, 
Half buried in the sands, 



26 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 



Like skeletons in chains, 
With shackled feet and hands. 

Beyond the fall of dews, 
Deeper than plummet lies, 

Float ships, with all their crews, 
No more to sink nor rise. 

There the black Slave-ship swims, 
Freighted with human forms, 

Whose fettered, fleshless limbs 
Are not the sport of storms. 

These are the bones of Slaves ; 

They gleam from the abyss ; 
They cry, from yawning waves, 

4 We are the Witnesses ! ' 

Within Earth's wide domains 
Are markets for men's lives ; 

Their necks are galled with chains, 
Their wrists are cramped with 
gyves. 

Dead bodies, that the kite 
In deserts makes its prey ; 

Murders, that with affright 
Scare school-boys from their 
play! 

All evil thoughts and deeds ; 

Anger, and lust, and pride ; 
The foulest, rankest weeds, 

That choke Life's groaning tide ! 

These are the woes of Slaves ; 

They glare from the abyss ; 
They cry, from unknown graves, 

' We are the Witnesses ! ' 

THE QUADROON GIEL 

The Slaver in the broad lagoon 
Lay moored with idle sail ; 

He waited for the rising moon, 
And for the evening gale. 

Under the shore his boat was tied, 
And all her listless crew 

Watched the gray alligator slide 
Into the still bayou. 



Odors of orange-flowers, and spice, 
Reached them from time to 
time, 
Like airs that breathe from Para- 
dise 
Upon a world of crime. 

The Planter, under his roof of 
thatch, 
Smoked thoughtfully and slow ; 
The Slaver's thumb was on the 
latch, 
He seemed in haste to go. 

He said, ' My ship at anchor rides 
In yonder broad lagoon ; 

I only wait the evening tides, 
And the rising of the moon.' 

Before them, with her face up- 
raised, 

In timid attitude, 
Like one half curious, half amazed, 

A Quadroon maiden stood. 

Her eyes were large, and full of 

light, 

Her arms and neck were bare ; 

No garment she wore save a kirtle 

bright, 

And her own long, raven hair. 

And on her lips there played a 
smile 

As holy, meek, and faint, 
As lights in some cathedral aisle 

The features of a saint. 

' The soil is barren, — the farm is 
old.' 
The thoughtful planter said ; 
Then looked upon the Slaver's 
gold, 
And then upon the maid. 

His heart within him was at 
strife 
With such accursed gains : 
For he knew whose passions gave 
her life, 
Whose blood ran in her veins. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



27 



But the voice of nature was too 


Upon the pillars of the temple 


weak; 


laid 


He took the glittering gold ! 


His desperate hands, and in its 


Then pale as death grew the 


overthrow 


maiden's cheek, 


Destroyed himself, and with him 


Her hands as icy cold. 


those who made 




A cruel mockery of his sightless 


The Slaver led her from the door, 


woe ; 


He led her by the hand, 


The poor, blind Slave, the scoff 


To be his slave and paramour 


and jest of all, 


In a strange and distant land ! 


Expired, and thousands perished 




in the fall ! 


THE WARNING 






There is a poor, blind Samson in 


Beware ! The Israelite of old, 


this land, 


who tore 


Shorn of his strength and bound 


The lion in his path, — when, 


in bonds of steel, 


poor and blind, 


Who may, in some grim revel, 


He saw the blessed light of heaven 


raise his hand, 


no more, 


And shake the pillars of this 


Shorn of his noble strength and 


Commonweal, 


forced to grind 


Till the vast Temple of our liber- 


In prison, and at last led forth to 


ties 


be 


A shapeless mass of wreck and 


A pander to Philistine revelry, — 


rubbish lies. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Victorian) m _ students of Alcala. 
Hypolito J 

The Count of Laea ) Gentlemen of 
Don Carlos } Madrid. 

The Archbishop of Toledo. 
A Cardinal. 

Beltran Cruz ado . Count of the Gyp- 
sies. 
Bartolome Roman . A young Gypsy. 
The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 

Pedro Crespo Alcalde. 

Pancho Alguacil. 

Francisco .... Lara's Servant. 
Chispa .... Victorian's Servant. 

Baltasar Innkeeper. 

Preciosa A Gypsy Girl. 

Angelica A poor Girl. 

Martina . The Padre Cnra's Niece. 
.... Preciosa' 's Maid. 

Gypsits, Musicians, etc. 



ACT I 

Scene I. — The Count of Lara's 
chambers. Night. The Count 
in his dressing-gown, smoking 
and conversing with DON 
Carlos. 

Lara. You were not at the play 
to-night, Don Carlos ; 
How happened it ? 
Don C. I had engagements else- 
where. 
Pray who was there ? 
Lara. Why, all the town and 
court. 
The house was crowded ; and the 

busy fans 
Among the gayly dressed and per- 
fumed ladies 



28 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Fluttered like butterflies among 


Lara. Because I have heard it 


the flowers. 


said this angel fell, 


There was the Countess of Medina 


And though she is a virgin out- 


Celi; 


, wardly, 


The Goblin Lady with her Phan- 


Within she is a sinner ; like those 


tom Lover, 


panels 


Her Lindo Don Diego ; DoKa Sol, 


Of doors and altar-pieces the old 


And DoHa Seraflna, and her 


monks 


cousins. 


Painted in convents, with the Vir- 


Bon C. What was the play? 


gin Mary 


Lara. It was a dull affair ; 


On the outside, and on the inside 


One of those comedies in which 


Venus ! 


you see, 


Bon C. You do her wrong ; in- 


As Lope says, the history of the 


deed, you do her wrong ! 


world 


She is as virtuous as she is 


Brought down from Genesis to the 


fair. 


day of Judgment. 


Lara. How credulous you are ! 


There were three duels fought in 


Why, look you, friend, 


the first act, 


There 's not a virtuous woman in 


Three gentlemen receiving deadly 


Madrid, 


wounds, 


In this whole city! And would 


Laying their hands upon their 


you persuade me 


hearts, and saying, 


That a mere dancing-girl, who 


' Oh, I am dead ! ' a lover in a 


shows herself, 


closet, 


Nightly, half naked, on the stage, 


An old hidalgo, and a gay Don 


for money, 


Juan, 


And with voluptuous motions fires 


A Dona Inez with a black mantilla, 


the blood 


Followed at twilight by an un- 


Of inconsiderate youth, is to be 


known lover, 


held 


Who looks intently where he 


A model for her virtue ? 


knows she is not ! 


Bon C. You forget 


Bon C. Of course, the Preciosa 


She is a Gypsy girl. 


danced to-night ? 


Lara. And therefore won 


Lara. And never better. Every 


The easier. 


footstep fell 


Bon C. Nay, not to be won at 


As lightly as a sunbeam on the 


all! 


water. 


The only virtue that a Gypsy 


I think the girl extremely beauti- 


prizes 


ful. 


Is chastity. That is her only vir- 


Bon C. Almost beyond the privi- 


tue. 


lege of woman ! 


Dearer than life she holds it. I 


I saw her in the Prado yesterday. 


remember 


Her step was royal, — queen-like, 


A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless 


— and her face 


bawd, 


As beautiful as a saint's in Para- 


Whose craft was to betray the 


dise. 


young and fair ; 


Lara. May not a saint fall from 


And yet this woman was above all 


her Paradise, 


bribes. 


And be no more a saint ? 


And when a noble lord, touched 


Bon C. Why do you ask ? 


by her beauty, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



29 



The wild and wizard beauty of her 

race, 
Offered her gold to be what she 

made others, 
She turned upon him, with a look 

of scorn, 
And smote him in the face ! 

Lara. And does that prove 

That Preciosa is above suspi- 
cion ? 
Don C. It proves a nobleman 
may be repulsed 
When he thinks conquest easy. I 

believe 
That woman, in her deepest de- 
gradation, 
Holds something sacred, some- 
thing undefiled, 
Some pledge and keepsake of her 

higher nature, 
And, like the diamond in the dark, 

retains 
Some quenchless gleam of the 
celestial light ! 
Lara. Yet Preciosa would have 

taken the gold. 
Don C. (rising). I do not think 

so. 
Lara. I am sure of it. 
But why this haste? Stay yet a 

little longer, 
And fight the battles of your Dul- 
cinea. 
Don C. 'T is late. I must be- 
gone, for if I stay 
You will not be persuaded. 
Lara. Yes ; persuade me. 

Don C. No one so deaf as he who 

will not hear ! 
Lara, No one so blind as he who 

will not see ! 

Don C. And so good night. I 

wish you pleasant dreams, 

A.nd greater faith in woman. [Exit. 

Lara. Greater faith ! 

I have the greatest faith ; for I 

believe 
Victorian is her lover. I believe 
That I shall be to-morrow ; and 

thereafter 
Another, and another, and another. 



Chasing each other through her 

zodiac, 
As Taurus chases Aries. 

(Enter Francisco with a casket.) 
Well, Francisco, 
What speed with Preciosa ? 

Fran. None, my lord. 

She sends your jewels back, and 

bids me tell you 
She is not to be purchased by your 
gold. 
Lara. Then I will try some 
other way to win her. 
Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 

Fran. Yes, my lord ; 

I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 

Lara. What was he doing there ? 

Fran. I saw him buy 

A golden ring, that had a ruby in 

it. 

Lara. Was there another like it ? 

Fran. One so like it 

I could not choose between them. 

Lara. It is well. 

To-morrow morning bring that 

ring to me. 
Do not forget. Now light me to 
my bed. {Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A street in Madrid. 
Enter Chisp a, followed by mu- 
sicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, 
and other instruments. 
Chispa. Abernuncio S.atanas ! 
and a plague on all lovers who 
ramble about at night drinking the 
elements, instead of sleeping quiet- 
ly in their beds. Every dead man 
to his cemetery, say I ; and every 
friar to his monastery. Now, 
here's my master, Victorian, yes- 
terday a cow-keeper, and to-day a 
gentleman; yesterday a student, 
and to-day a lover; and I must 
be up later than the nightingale, 
for as the abbot sings so must the 
sacristan respond. God grant he 
may soon be married, for ther 
shall all this serenading cease 
Ay, marry! marry! marry) Mo 



30 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



ther, what does marry mean ? It 
means to spin, to bear children, 
and to weep, my daughter ! And, 
of a truth, there is something more 
in matrimony than the wedding- 
ring. {To the musicians.) And 
now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as 
the ass said to the cabbages. Pray, 
walk this way; and don't hang 
down your heads. It is no dis- 
grace to have an old. father and a 
ragged shirt. Now, look you, you 
are gentlemen who lead the life of 
crickets ; you enjoy hunger by day 
and noise by night. Yet, I beseech 
you, for this once be not loud, but 
pathetic ; for it is a serenade to a 
damsel in bed, and not to the Man 
in the Moon. Your object is not 
to arouse and terrify, but to soothe 
and bring lulling dreams. There- 
fore, each shall not play upon his 
instrument as if it were the only 
one in the universe, but gently, and 
with a certain modesty, according 
with the others. Pray, how may I 
call thy name, friend? 

First Mus. Ger6nimo Gil, at your 
service. 

Chispa. Every tub smells of the 
wine that is in it. Pray, Ger6nimo, 
is not Saturday an unpleasant day 
with thee ? 

First Mus. Why so ? 

Chispa. Because I have heard it 
said that Saturday is an unpleasant 
day with those who have but one 
shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee 
at the tavern, and if thou canst run 
as fast as thou canst drink, I should 
like to hunt hares with thee. "What 
instrument is that? 

First Mus. An Aragonese bag- 
pipe. 

Chispa. Pray, art thou related to 
the bagpiper of Bujalance, who 
asked a maravedi for playing, and 
ten for leaving off ? 

First Mus. No, your honor. 

Chispa. I am glad of it. What 
other instruments have we ? 



Second and Third Musicians, 
We play the bandurria. 

Chispa. A pleasing instrument. 
And thou ? 

Fourth Mus. The fife. 

Chispa. I like it ; it has a cheer, 
f ul, soul-stirring sound, that soars 
up to my lady's window like the 
song of a swallow. And you 
others ? 

Other Mus. We are the singers, 
please your honor. 

Chispa. You are too many. Do 
you think we are 'going to sing 
mass in the cathedral of C6rdova ? 
Four men can make but little use 
of one shoe, and I see not how you 
can all sing in one song. But fol- 
low mo along the garden wall. 
That is the way my master climbs 
to the lady's window. It is by the 
Vicar's skirts that the Devil climbs 
into the belfry. Come, follow me, 
and make no noise. \Fxeunt. 

Scene ILL — Preciosa's cham- 
ber. She stands at the open 
window. 
Prec. How slowly through the 

lilac-scented air 
Descends the tranquil moon! 

Like thistle-down 
The vapory clouds float in the 

peaceful sky ; 
And sweetly from yon hollow 

vaults of shade 
The nightingales breathe out their 

souls in song. 
And hark ! what songs of love 

what soul-like sounds, 
Answer them from below ! 

SERENADE. 
Stars of the summer night ! 

Far in yon azure deeps, 
Hide, hide your golden light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Moon of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



3i 



Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind of the summer night ! 

Where yonder woodbine creeps, 
Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Dreams of the summer night ! 

Tell her, her lover keeps 
Watch ! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

[Enter Victorian by the balcony.) 

Vict. Poor little dove! Thou 

tremblest like a leaf ! 
Prec. I am so frightened ! 'T is 
for thee I tremble ! 
I hate to have thee climb that wall 

by night ! 
Did no one see thee ? 

Vict. None, my love, but thou. 
Prec. 'T is very dangerous ; and 
when thou art gone 
I chide myself for letting thee 

come here 
Thus stealthily by night. Where 

hast thou been ? 
Since yesterday I have no news 
from thee. 
Vict. Since yesterday I have 
been in Alcala. 
Erelong the time will come, sweet 

Preciosa, 
When that dull distance shall no 

more* divide us; 
And I no more shall 3cale thy wall 

by night 
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do 
now. 
Prec. An honest thief, to steal 

but what thou givest. 
Vict. And we shall sit together 
unmolested, 
And words of true love pass from 

tongue to tongue, 
A.s singing birds from one bough 
to another. 



Prec. That were a life to make 
time envious ! 
I knew that thou wouldst come to 

me to-night. 
I saw thee at the play. 

Vict. Sweet child of air ! 

Never did I behold thee so at- 
tired 
And garmented in beauty as to- 
night ! 
What hast thou done to make thee 
look so fair? 
Prec. Am I not always fair? 
Vict. Ay, and so fair 

That I am jealous of all eyes that 

see thee, 
And wish that they were blind. 

Prec. I heed them not ; 

When thou art present, I see none 
but thee ! 
Vict. There 's nothing fair nor 
beautiful, but takes 
Something from thee, that makes 
it beautiful. 
Prec. And yet thou leavest me 

for those dusty books. 
Vict. Thou comest between me 
and those books too often ! 
I see thy face in everything I 

see! 
The paintings in the chapel wear 

thy looks. 
The canticles are changed to sara- 
bands, 
And with the learned doctors of 

. the schools 
I see thee dance cachuchas. 

Prec. In good sooth, 

I dance with learned doctors of the 

schools 
To-morrow morning. 

Vict, And with whom, I pray? 
Prec. A grave and reverend 
Cardinal, and his Grace 
The Archbishop of Toledo. 

Vict. What mad jest 

Is this ? 
Prec. It is no jest ; indeed It is 

not. 
Vict. Prithee, explain thyself. 
Prec. Why. simply thus. 



32 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Thou knowest the Pope has sent 


Prec. And when thou wast gone 


here into Spain 


I felt an aching here. I did not 


To put a stop to dances on the 


speak 


stage. 


To any one that day. But from 


Vict. I have heard it whispered. 


that day 


Prec. Now the Cardinal, 


Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 


Who for this purpose comes, would 


Vict. Remember him no more. 


fain behold 


Let not his shadow 


With his own eyes these dances; 


Come between thee and me. Sweet 


and the Archbishop 


Preciosa ! 


Has sent for me — 


I loved thee even then, though I 


Vict: That thou mayest dance 


was silent ! 


before them ! 


Prec. I thought I ne'er should 


Now viva la cachucha! It will 


see thy face again. 


breathe 


Thy farewell had a sound of sor 


The fire of youth into these gray 


row in it. 


old men ! 


Vict. That was the first sound 


'T will be thy proudest conquest ! 


in the song of love ! 


Prec. Saving one. 


Scarce more than silence is, and 


And yet I fear these dances will 


yet a sound. 


be stopped, 


Hands of invisible spirits touch 


And Preciosa be once more a beg- 


the strings 


gar. 


Of that mysterious instrument, the 


Vict. The sweetest beggar that 


soul, 


e'er asked for alms ; 


And play the prelude of our fate. 


With such beseeching eyes, that 


We hear 


when I saw thee 


The voice prophetic, and are not 


I gave my heart away ! 


alone. 


Prec. Dost thou remember 


Prec. That is my faith. Dost 


When first we met ? 


thou believe these warnings ? 


Vict. It was at C6rdova, 


Vict. So far as this. Our feel- 


In the cathedral garden. Thou 


ings and our thoughts 


wast sitting 


Tend ever on, and rest not in the 


Under the orange trees, beside a 


Present. 


fountain. 


As drops of rain fall into some 


Prec. 'T was Easter Sunday. 


dark well, 


The full-blossomed trees 


And from below comes a scarce 


Filled all the air with fragrance 


audible sound, 


and with joy. 


So fall our thoughts into the dark 


The priests were singing, and the 


Hereafter, 


organ sounded, 


And their mysterious echo reaches 


And then anon the great cathedral 


us. 


bell. 


Prec. I have felt it so, but found 


It was the elevation of the Host. 


no words to say it ! 


We both of us fell down upon our 


I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 


knees, 


But thou hast language for all 


Under the orange boughs, and 


thoughts and feelings. 


prayed together. 


Thou art a scholar; and some- 


I never had been happy till that 


times I think 


moment. 


We cannot walk together in this 


Vict. Thou blessed angel • 


world ! 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



33 



The distance that divides us is too 

great ! 
Henceforth thy pathway lies 

among the stars ; 
I must not hold thee hack. 

Vict. Thou little sceptic ! 

Dost thou still doubt? What I 

most prize in woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect ! 
The intellect is finite ; hut the af- 
fections 
Are infinite, and cannot he ex- 
hausted. 
Compare me with the great men 

of the earth ; 
"What am I ? Why, a pygmy among 

giants ! 
But if thou lovest, — mark me! I 

say lovest, — 
The greatest of thy sex excels thee 

not! 
The world of the affections is thy 

world, 
Not that of man's ambition. In 

that stillness 
Which most becomes a woman, 

calm and holy, 
Thou sittest by the fireside of the 

heart, 
Feeding its flame. The element of 

fire 
Is pure. It cannot change nor 

hide its nature, 
But burns as brightly in a Gypsy 

camp 
As in a palace hall. Art thou con- 
vinced ? 
Prec. Yes, that I love thee, as 

the good love heaven ; 
But not that I am worthy of that 

heaven. 
How shall I more deserve it ? 
Vict. Loving more. 

Prec. I cannot love thee more ; 

my heart is full. 
Vict. Then let it overflow, and I 

will drink it, 
As in the summer-time the thirsty 

sands 
Drink the swift waters of the 

Manzanares, 
And still do thirst for more. 



A Watchman (in the street). 
Ave Maria 
Purissima ! 'T is midnight and 
serene ! 
Vict. Hear'st thou that cry ? 
Prec. It is a hateful sound, 

To scare thee from me ! 

Vict. As the hunter's horn 

Doth scare the timid stag, or bark 

of hounds 
The moor-fowl from his mate. 
Prec. Pray, do not go ! 

Vict. I must away to Alcala to- 
night. 
Think of me when I am away. 

Prec. Fear not ! 

I have no thoughts that do not 
think of thee. 
Vict, (giving her a ring). And 
to remind thee of my love, 
take this ; 
A serpent, emblem of Eternity ; 
A ruby, — say, a drop of my heart's 
blood. 
Prec. It is an ancient saying, 
that the ruby 
Brings gladness to the wearer, and 

preserves 
The heart pure, and, if laid be- 
neath the pillow, 
Drives away evil dreams. But 

then, alas ! 
It was a serpent tempted Eve to 
sin. 
Vict. What convent of bare- 
footed Carmelites 
Taught thee so much theology ? 
Prec. (laying her hand upon his 
mouth). Hush ! hush ! 

Good night ! and may all holy an- 
gels guard thee ! 
Vict. Good night! good night! 
Thou art my guardian an- 
gel! 
I have no other saint than thou to 
pray to ! 
(He desc&nds by the balcony.) 
Prec. Take care, and do not 

hurt thee. Art thou safe ? 
Vict, (from the garden). Safe 
as my love for thee! But 
art thou safe ? 



34 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Others can climb a balcony by 
moonlight 

As well as I. Pray shut thy win- 
dow close ; 

I am jealous of the perfumed air 
of night 

That from this garden climbs to 
kiss thy lips. 
Prec. (throwing down her hand- 
kerchief). Thou silly child ! 
Take this to blind thine eyes. 

It is my benison ! 

Vict. And brings to me 

Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as 
the soft wind 

Wafts to the out-bound mariner 
the breath 

Of the beloved land he leaves be- 
hind. 
Prec. Make not thy voyage 

long. 
Vict. To-morrow night 

Shall see me safe returned. Thou 
art the star 

To guide me to an anchorage. 
Good night ! 

My beauteous star! My star of 
love, goodnight! 
Prec: Good night ! 
Watchman (at a distance). Ave 
Maria Purissima ! 

Scene IV. — An inn on the road 

to Alcala. Baltasar asleep on 

a bench. Enter Chispa. 

Chispa. And here we are, half- 
way to Alcala, between cocks and 
midnight. Body o' me ! what an 
inn this is ! The lights out, and 
the landlord asleep. Hola ! ancient 
Baltasar ! 

Bal. (waking). Here I am. 

Chispa. Yes, there you are, like 
a one-eyed Alcalde in a town with- 
out inhabitants. Bring a light, and 
let me have supper. 

Pal. Where is your master? 

Chispa. Do not trouble yourself 
about him. We have stopped a 
moment to breathe our horses ; 
and if he chooses to walk up and 



down in the open air, looking into 
the sky as one who hears it rain, 
that does not satisfy my hunger, 
you know. But be quick, for I am 
in a hurry, and every man stretches 
his legs accordiug to the length 
of his coverlet. What have we 
here? 

Pal. (setting a light on the table). 
Stewed rabbit. 

Chispa (eating). Conscience of 
Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you 
mean! 

Pal. And a pitcher of Pedro 
Ximenes, with a roasted pear in 
it. 

Chispa (drinking). Ancient Bal- 
tasar, amigo! You know how to 
cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell 
you this is nothing but Vinto Tinto 
of La Mancha, with a tang of the 
swine-skin. 

Pal. I swear to you by Saint 
Simon and Judas, it is all as I 
say. 

Chispa. And I swear to you by 
Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that 
it is no such thing. Moreover, 
your supper is like the hidalgo's 
dinner, very little meat and a great 
deal of tablecloth. 

Pal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Chispa. And more noise than 
nuts. 

Pal. Ha! ha! ha! You must 
have your joke, Master Chispa. 
But shall I not ask Don Victorian 
in, to take a draught of the Pedro 
Ximenes ? 

Chispa. No; you might as well 
say, ' Don't-you-want-some ? ' to a 
dead man. 

Pal. Why does he go so often to 
Madrid ? 

Chispa. For the same reason 
that he eats no supper. He is in 
love. Were you ever in love, Bal- 
tasar? 

Pal. I was never out of it, good 
Chispa. It has been the torment 
of my life. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



35 



Chispa. What! are you on fire, 
top, old haystack? Why, we shall 
never be able to put you out. 

Vict, (ivithout) . Chispa ! 

Chnspa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, 
for the cocks are crowing. 

Vict. Ea! Chispa! Chispa! 

Chispa. Ea ! Seiior. Come with 
me, ancient Baltasar, and bring 
water for the horses. I will pay 
for the supper to-morrow. \_Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Victorian's cham- 
bers at Alcala. Hypolito 
asleep in an arm-chair. He 
awakes slowly. 

Hyp. I must have been asleep ! 
ay, sound asleep ! 
And it was all a dream. O sleep, 

sweet sleep ! 
Whatever form thou takest, thou 

art fair, 
Holding unto our lips thy goblet 

filled 
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing 

draught ! 
The candles have burned low; it 

must be late. 
Where can Victorian be? Like 

Fray Carrillo, 
The only place in which one can- 
not find him 
Is his own cell. Here 's his guitar, 

that seldom 
Feels the caresses of its master's 

hand. 
Open thy silent lips, sweet instru- 
ment ! 
And make dull midnight merry 
with a song. 
{He plays and sings.) 
Padre Francisco ! 
Padre Francisco ! 
What do you want of Padre Francisco ? 
Here is a pretty young maiden 
Who wants to confess her sins ! 
Open the door and let her come in, 
I will shrive her of every sin. 

(Enter Victorian.) 
Viet. Padre Hypolito ! Padre 
Hypolito ! 



Hyp. What do you want of Padre 

Hypolito ? 
Vict. Come, shrive me straight ; 
for, if love be a sin, 
I am the greatest sinner that doth 

live. 
I will confess the sweetest of all 

crimes, 
A maiden wooed and won. 

Hyp. The same old tale 

Of the old woman in the chimney- 
corner, 
Who, while the pot boils, says, 

' Come here, my child ; 
I '11 tell thee a story of my wedding- 
day.' 
Vict. Nay, listen, for my heart 
is full ; so full 
That I must speak. 

Hyp. Alas ! that heart of thine 
Is like a scene in the old play ; the 

curtain 
Eises to solemn music, and lo ! 

enter 
The eleven thousand virgins of 
Cologne ! 
Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's vol- 
umes, thou shouldst say ; 
Those that remained, after the six 

were burned, 
Being held more precious than the 

nine together. 
But listen to my tale. Dost thou 

remember 
The Gypsy girl we saw at C6rdova 
Dance the Romalis in the market- 
place ? 
Hyp. Thou meanest Preciosa. 
Vict. Ay, the same. 

Thou knowest how her image 

haunted me 
Long after we returned to Alcala. 
She 's in Madrid. 
Hyp. I know it. 

Vict. And I 'm in love. 

Hyp. And therefore in Madrid 
when thou shouldst be 
In Alcala. 

Vict. Oh pardon me, my friend, 
If I so long have kept this secret 
from thee : 



36 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



But silence is the charm that 

guards such treasures, 
And, if a word he spoken ere the 

time, 
They sink again, they were not 

meant for us. 
Hyp. Alas ! alas ! I see thou art 

in love. 
Love keeps the cold out better than 

a cloak. "" 
It serves for food and raiment. 

Give a Spaniard 
His mass, his olla, and his Dona 

Luisa — 
Thou knowest the proverb. But 

pray tell me, lover, 
How speeds thy wooing? Is the 

maiden coy ? 
Write her a song, beginning with 

an Ave ; 
Sing as the monk sang to the 

Virgin Mary, 

Ave ! eujus calcem dare 
Nee centenni commendare 
Sciret Seraph studio I 



Vict. Pray, do not jest ! This is 
no time for it! 
I am in earnest ! 

Hyp. Seriously enamored? 

What, ho! The Primus of great 

Alcala 
Enamored of a Gypsy? Tell me 

frankly, 
How meanest thou? 

Vict. I mean it honestly. 

Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry 

her! 
Vict. Why not? 

Hyp. She was betrothed to one 
Bartolome, 
If I remember rightly, a young 

Gypsy 
Who danced with her at C6rdova. 
Vict. They quarrelled, 

And so the matter ended. 

Hyp. But in truth 

Thou wilt not marry her. 

Vict. In truth I will. 

The angels sang in heaven when 
she was born ! 



She is a precious jewel I have 

found 
Among the filth and rubbish of 

the world. 
I '11 stoop for it ; but when I wear 

it here, 
Set on my forehead like the morn- 
ing stai', 
The world may wonder, but it will 

not laugh. 
Hyp. If thou wear'st nothing 

else upon thy forehead, 
'Twill be indeed a wonder. 

Vict. Out upon thee 

With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray 

tell me, 
Is there no virtue in the world ? 

Hyp. Not much. 

What, think'st thou, is she doing 

at this moment ; 
Now, while we speak of her ? 

Vict. She lies asleep, 

And from her parted lips her gentle 

breath 
Comes like the fragrance from the 

lips of flowers. 
Her tender limbs are still, and on 

her breast 
The cross she prayed to, ere she 

fell asleep, 
Eises and falls with the soft tide 

of dreams, 
Like a light barge safe moored. 

Hyp. Which means, in prose, 
She's sleeping with her mouth a 

little open ! 
Vict. Oh, would I had the old 

magician's glass 
To see her as she lies in child-like 

sleep ! 
Hyp. And wouldst thou ven» 

ture? 
Vict. Ay, indeed I would ! 

Hyp. Thou art courageous. 

Hast thou e'er reflected 
How much lies hidden in that one 

word, now ? 
Vict. Yes; all the awful mys. 

tery of Life ! 
I oft have thought, my dear Hypo 

lito, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



37 



That could we, by some spell of 

magic, change 
The world and its inhabitants to 

stone, 
In the same attitudes they now are 

in, 
What fearful glances downward 

might we cast 
Into the hollow chasms of human 

life! 
What groups should we behold 

about the death-bed, 
Putting to shame the group of 

Niobe ! 
What joyful welcomes, and what 

sad farewells ! 
What stony tears in those con- 
gealed eyes ! 
What visible joy or anguish in 

those cheeks ! 
What bridal pomps, and what fu- 
nereal shows ! 
What foes, like gladiators, fierce 

and struggling ! 
What lovers with their marble lips 

together ! 
Hyp. Ay, there it is ! and, if I 

were in love, 
That is the very point I most 

should dread. 
This magic glass, these magic 

spells of thine, 
Might tell a tale were better left 

untold. 
For instance, they might show us 

thy fair cousin, 
The Lady Violante, bathed in tears 
Of love and anger, like the maid of 

Colchis, 
Whom thou, another faithless Ar- 
gonaut, 
Having won that golden fleece, a 

woman's love, 
Desertest for this Glauce. 

Vict. Hold thy peace ! 

She cares not for me. She may 

wed another, 
Or go into a convent, and, thus 

dying, 
Marry Achilles in the Elysiau 
Fields. 



Hyp. {rising). And so, good 
night ! Good morning, I 
should say. 
{Clock strikes three.) 

Hark ! how the loud and ponder- 
ous mace of Time 

Knocks at the golden portals of 
the day ! 

And so, once more, good night'. 
We '11 speak more largely 

Of Preciosa when we meet again. 

Get thee to bed, and the magician, 
Sleep, 

Shall show her to thee, in his magic 
glass, 

In all her loveliness. Good night ! 

[Exit. 

Vict. Good night ! 

But not to bed ; for I must read 
awhile. 

{Throws himself into the arm- 
chair which Hypolito has left, 
and lays a large book open upon 
his knees.) 
Must read, or sit in revery and 

watch 
The changing color of the waves 

that break 
Upon the idle sea-shore of the 

mind! 
Visions of Fame! that once did 

visit me, 
Making night glorious with your 

smile, where are ye? 
Oh, who shall give me, now that ye 

are gone, 
Juices of those immortal plants 

that bloom 
Upon Olympus, making us immor- 
tal? 
Or teach me where that wondrous 

mandrake grows 
Whose magic root, torn from the 

earth with groans, 
At midnight hour, can scare the 

fiends away, 
And make the mind prolific in its 

fancies ? 
I have the wish, but want the will 

to act! 



38 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Souls of great men departed ! Ye 

whose words 
Have come to light from the swift 

river of Time, 
Like Koman swords found in the 

Tagus' bed, 
Where is the strength to wield the 

arms ye bore ? 
From the barred visor of Antiquity 
[Reflected shines the eternal light 

of Truth, 
As from a mirror ! All the means 

of action — 
The shapeless masses, the mate- 
rials — 
Lie everywhere about us. What 

we need 
Is the celestial fire to change the 

flint 
Into transparent crystal, bright 

and clear. 
That fire is genius! The rude 

peasant sits 
At evening in his smoky cot, and 

draws 
With charcoal uncouth figures on 

the wall. 
The son of genius comes, foot-sore 

with travel, 
And begs a shelter from the incle- 
ment night. 
He takes the charcoal from the 

peasant's hand, 
And, by the magic of his touch at 

once 
Transfigured, all its hidden vir- 
tues shine, 
And, in the eyes of the astonished 

clown, 
It gleams a diamond ! Even thus 

transformed, 
Eude popular traditions and old 

tales 
Shine as immortal poems, at the 

touch 
Of some poor, houseless, homeless, 

wandering bard, 
Who had but a night's lodging for 

his pains. 
But there are brighter dreams 

than those of Fame, 



Which are the dreams of Love! 

Out of the heart 
Rises the bright ideal of these 

dreams, 
As from some woodland fount a 

spirit rises 
And sinks again into its silent 

deeps, 
Ere the enamored knight can 

touch her robe ! 
'T is this ideal that the soul of man, 
Like the enamored knight beside 

the fountain, 
Waits for upon the margin of 

Life's stream ; 
Waits to behold her rise from the 

dark waters, 
Clad in a mortal shape! Alas! 

how many 
Must wait in vain! The stream 

flows evermore, 
But from its silent deeps no spirit 

rises ! 
Yet I, born under a propitious 

star, 
Have found the bright ideal of my 

dreams. 
Yes ! she is ever with me. I can 

feel, 
Here, as I sit at midnight and 

alone, 
Her gentle breathing! on my 

breast can feel 
The pressure of her head ! God's 

benison 
Best ever on it ! Close those 

beauteous eyes, 
Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers 

that bloom at night 
With balmy lips breathe in her 

ears my name ! 
{Gradually sinks asleep.) 



ACT II 

Scene I. — Preciosa's chamber. 
Morning. Preciosa and An- 

GELICA. 

Prec. Why will you go so soon! 
Stay yet awhile. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



39 



The poor too often turn away un- 
heard 
From hearts that shut against 

them with a sound 
That will be heard in heaven. 

Pray, tell me more 
Of your adversities. Keep nothing 

from me. 
What is your landlord's name ? 
Ang. The Count of Lara. 

Prec. The Count of Lara ? Oh, 

beware that man ! 
Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley 

with him ! 
And rather die an outcast in the 

streets 
Than touch his gold. 
, Ang. You know him, then ! 

Free. As much 

As any woman may, and yet be 

pure. 
As you would keep your name 

without a blemish, 
Beware of him ! 

Ang. Alas ! what can I do ? 

I cannot choose my friends. Each 

word of kindness, 
Come whence it may, is welcome 

to the poor. 
Prec. Make me your friend. A 

girl so young and fair 
Should have no friends but those 

of her own sex. 
What is your name ? 
Ang. Angelica. 

Prec. That name 

Was given you, that you might be 

an angel 
To her who bore you! When your 

infant smile 
Made her home Paradise, you were 

her angel. 
Oh, be an angel still ! She needs 

that smile. 
So long as you are innocent, fear 

nothing. 
No one can harm you ! lama poor 

girl, 
Whom chance has taken from the 

public streets. 



I have no other shield than mine 

own virtue. 
That is the charm which has pro- 
tected me ! 
Amid a thousand perils, I have 

worn it 
Here on my heart ! It is my guar- 
dian angel. 
Ang. (rising) . I thank you for 

this counsel, dearest lady. 
Prec. Thank me by following it. 
Ang. Indeed I will. 

Prec. Pray, do not go. I have 

much more to say. 
Ang. My mother is alone. I 

dare not leave her. 
Prec. Some other time, then, 
when we meet again. 
You must not go away with words 
alone. 
(Gives her a purse.) 
Take this. Would it were more. 
Ang. I thank you, lady. 

Prec. No thanks. To-morrow 
come to me again. 
I dance to-night, — perhaps for the 

last time. 
But what I gain, I promise shall 

be yours, 
If that can save you from the 
Count of Lara. 
Ang. Oh, my dear lady! how 
shall I be grateful 
For so much kindness ? 

Prec. I deserve no thanks. 

Thank Heaven, not me. 
Ang. Both Heaven and you. 
Prec. Farewell. 

Eemember that you come again 
to-morrow. 
Ang. I will. And may the 
Blessed Virgin guard you, 
And all good angels. [Exit. 

Prec. May they guard thee too, 
And all the poor; for they have 

need of angels. 
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my 

basquina, 
My richest m'aja dress, — my dan- 
cing dress, 



40 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



And my most precious jewels! 


I gave it to thee freely, at all 


Make me look 


times, 


Fairer than night e'er saw me ! 


Never denied thee ; never had a 


I've a prize. 


wish 


To win this day, worthy of Pre- 


But to fulfil thine own. Now go 


ciosa! 


in peace ! 


{Enter Beltrant Cruzado.) 


Be merciful, be patient, and ere- 


Cruz. Ave Maria ! 


long 


Free. God ! my evil genius ! 


Thou shalt have more. 


What seekest thou here to-day? 


Cruz. And if I have it not, 


Cruz. Thyself, — my child. 


Thou shalt no longer dwell here in 


Free. What is thy will with me ? 


rich chambers, 


Cruz. Gold! gold! 


Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty 


Free. I gave thee yesterday; I 


food, 


have ho more. 


And live in idleness ; but go with 


Cruz. The gold of the Busne,— 


me, 


give me his gold ! 


Dance the Romalis in the public 


Free. I gave the last in charity 


streets, 


to-day. 


And wander wild again o'er field 


Cruz. That is a foolish lie. 


and fell ; 


Prec. It is the truth. 


For here we stay not long. 


Cruz. Curses upon thee ! Thou 


Prec. What ! march again ? 


art not my child ! 


Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate 


Hast thou given gold away, and 


the crowded town ! 


not to me ? 


I cannot breathe shut up within 


Not to thy father? To whom, 


its gates ! 


then ? 


Air, — I want air, and sunshine. 


Prec. To one 


and blue sky, 


Who needs it more. 


The feeling of the breeze upon my 


Cruz. No one can need it more. 


face, 


Prec. Thou art not poor. 


The feeling of the turf beneath my 


Cruz. What, I, who lurk about 


feet, 


In dismal suburbs and unwhole- 


And no walls but the far-off moun- 


some lanes ; 


tain-tops. 


I, who am housed worse than the 


Then I am free and strong, — once 


galley slave ; 


more myself, 


I, who am fed worse than the ken- 


Beltran Cruzado, Count of the 


nelled hound ; 


Cales ! 


I, who am clothed in rags, — Bel- 


Prec. God speed thee on thy 


tran Cruzado, — 


march ! — I cannot go. 


Not poor ! 


Cruz. Eemember who I am, and 


Prec. Thou hast a stout heart 


who thou art ! 


and strong hands. 


Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing 


Thou canst supply thy wants; 


more. 


what wouldst thou more ? 


Bartolome Roman — 


Cruz. The gold of the Busne » 


Prec. (with emotion). Oh, I be- 


give me his gold ! 


seech thee ! 


Prec. Beltran Cruzado ! hear me 


If my obedience and blameless 


once for all. 


life, 


I speak the truth. So long as I 


If my humility and meek submis* 


had gold, 


sion 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



4i 



In all things hitherto, can move in 

thee 
One feeling of compassion ; if thou 

art 
Indeed my father, and canst trace 

in me 
One look of her who bore me, or 

one tone 
That doth remind thee of her, let 

it plead 
In my behalf, who am a feeble 

girl, 
Too feeble to resist, and do not 

force me 
To wed that man ! I am afraid of 

him! 
I do not love him ! On my knees 

I beg thee 
To use no violence, nor do in haste 
What cannot be undone ! 

Cruz. O child, child, child ! 

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as 

a bird 
Betrays her nest, by striving to 

conceal it. 
I will not leave thee here in the 

great city 
To be a grandee's mistress. Make 

thee ready 
To go with us ; and until then re- 
member 
A watchful eye is on thee. {Exit. 
Prec. Woe is me ! 

I have a strange misgiving in my 

heart ! 
But that one deed of charity I '11 

do, 
Befall what may ; they cannot take 

that from me. 

Scene II. — A room in the Arch- 
bishop's Palace. The Arch- 
bishop and a Cardinal seated. 
Arch. Knowing how near it 
touched the public morals, 
And that our age is grown cor- 
rupt and rotten 
By such excesses, we have sent to 

Eome, 
Beseeching that his Holiness would 
aid 



In curing the gross surfeit of the 
time, 

By seasonable stop put here in 
Spain 

To bull-fights and lewd dances on 
the stage. 

All this you know. 
Card. Know and approve. 
Arch. And further, 

That, by a mandate from his Holi- 
ness, 

The first have been suppressed. 
Card. I trust forever. 

It was a cruel sport. 
Arch. A barbarous pastime, 

Disgraceful to the land that calls 
itself 

Most Catholic and Christian. 
Card. Yet the people 

Murmur at this ; and, if the public 
dances 

Should be condemned upon too 
slight occasion. 

Worse ills might follow than the 
ills we cure. 

As Panem et Circenses was the cry 

Among the Boman populace of old, 

So Pan y Toros is the cry in 
Spain. 

Hence I would act advisedly here- 
in; 

And therefore have induced your 
Grace to see 

These national dances, ere we in- 
terdict them. 
(Enter a Servant.) 
Serv. The dancing-girl, and with 
her the musicians 

Your Grace was pleased to order, 
wait without. 
Arch. Bid them come in. Now 
shall your eyes behold 

In what angelic, yet voluptuous 
shape 

The Devil came to tempt Saint 
Anthony. 

(Enter Preciosa, with a mantle 
thrown over her head. She ad- 
vances slowly, in modest, half- 
timid attitude.) 



4 2 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Card, {aside). Oh, what a fair 
and ministering angel 

Was lost to heaven when this 
sweet woman fell ! 
Free, {kneeling before the Arch- 
bishop). I have obeyed the 
order of your Grace. 

If I intrude upon your better 
hours, 

I proffer this excuse, and here be- 
seech 

Your holy benediction. 
Arch. May God bless thee, 

And lead thee to a better life. 
Arise. 
Card, {aside). Her acts are 
modest, and her words dis- 
creet ! 

I did not look for this! Come 
hither, child. 

Is thy name Preciosa ? 
Prec. Thus I am called. 

Card. That is a Gypsy name. 

Who is thy father ? 
Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of 

the Cales. 
Arch. I have a dim remembrance 
of that man ; 

He was a bold and reckless char- 
acter, 

A sun-burnt Ishmael ! 
Card. Dost thou remember 

Thy earlier days ? 
Prec. Yes ; by the Darro's side 

My childhood passed. I can re- 
member still 

The river, and the mountains 
capped with snow ; 

The villages, where, yet a little 
child, 

I told the traveller's fortune in the 
street ; 

The smuggler's horse, the brigand 
and the shepherd ; 

The march across the moor; the 
halt at noon ; 

The red fire of the evening camp, 
that lighted 

The forest where we slept; and, 
further back. 



As in a dream or in some former 
life, 

Gardens and palace walls. 
Arch. 'T is the Alhambra, 

Under whose towers the Gypsy 
camp was pitched. 

But the time wears ; and we would 
see thee dance. 
Prec. Your Grace shall be 
obeyed. 

{She lays aside her mantilla. The 
music of the cachucha is played, 
and the dance begins. The 
Archbishop and the Cardi- 
nal look on with gravity and 
an occasional frown ; then make 
signs to each other ; and, as the 
dance continues, become more 
and more pleased and excited; 
and at length rise from their 
seats, throw their caps in the 
air, and applaud vehemently as 
the scene closes.) 

Scene III. — The Prado. A long 
avenue of trees leading to the 
gate of Atocha. On the right the 
dome and spires of a convent. 
A fountain. Evening. Don 
Carlos and Hypolito meet- 
ing. 

Don C. Hola! good evening, 

Don Hypolito. 
Hyp. And a good evening to my 
friend, Don Carlos. 
Some lucky star has led my steps 

this way. 
I was in search of you. 
Don C. Command me always. 
Hyp. Do you remember, in Que- 
vedo's Dreams, 
The miser, who, upon the Day of 

Judgment, 
Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 
Don C. I do ; 

But what of that? 
Hyp. I am that wretched man. 
Don C. You mean to tell me 
yours have risen empty? 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



43 



Hyp. And amen! said my Cid 

Campeador. 
Don C. Pray, how much need 

you? 
Hyp. Some half-dozen ounces, 
Which, with due interest — 
Don C. (giving his purse). 
"What, am I a Jew 
To put my moneys out at usury ? 
Here is my purse. 
Hyp. Thank you. A pretty 
purse. 
Made by the hand of some fair 

Madrilena ; 
Perhaps a keepsake. 
Don C. No, 'tis at your ser- 
vice. 
• Hyp. Thank you again. Lie 

there, good Chrysostom, 
And with thy golden mouth re- 
mind me often, 
I am the debtor of my friend. 

Don C. But tell me, 

Come you to-day from Alcala ? 
Hyp. This moment. 

Don C. And pray, how fares the 

brave Victorian ? 
Hyp. Indifferent well ; that is to 
say, not well. 
A damsel has ensnared him with 

the glances 
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herds- 
men catch 
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love. 

Don C. And is it faring ill 

To be in love ? 
Hyp. In his case very ill. 

Don C. Why so ? 
Hyp. For many reasons. First 
and foremost, 
"Because he is in love with an 

ideal; 
A creature of his own imagina- 
tion ; 
A. child of air; an echo of his 

heart ; 
And, like a lily on a river float- 
ing, 
She floats upon the river of his 
thoughts ! 



Don C. A common thing with 
poets. But who is 
This floating lily? For, in fine, 

some woman, 
Some living woman, — not a mere 

ideal,— 
Must wear the outward semblance 

of his thought. 
Who is it ? Tell me. 

Hyp. Well, it is a woman \ 

But, look you, from the coffer of 

his heart 
He brings forth precious jewels to 

adorn her, 
As pious priests adorn some favor- 
ite saint 
With gems and gold, until at length 

she gleams 
One blaze of glory. Without these, 

you know, 
And the priest's benediction, 't is a 
doll. 
Don C. Well, well ! who is this 

doll? 
Hyp. Why, who do you think ? 
Don C. His cousin Violante. 
Hyp. Guess again. 

To ease his laboring heart, in the 

last storm 
He threw her overboard, with all 
her ingots. 
Don C. I cannot guess; so tell 

me who it is. 
Hyp. Not I. 
DonC. Why not? 
Hyp. (mysteriously) . Why? Be- 
cause Mari Franca 
Was married four leagues out of 
Salamanca ! 
Don C. Jesting aside, who is 

it? 
Hyp. Preciosa. 
Don C. Impossible ! The Count 
of Lara tells me 
She is not virtuous. 

Hyp. Did I say she was ? 

The Koman Emperor Claudius 

had a wife 
Whose name was Messalina, as I 

think ; 
Valeria Messalina was her name. 



44 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



But hist! I see him yonder 

through the trees, 
Walking as in a dream. 
Don C. He comes this way. 

Hyp. It has been truly said by 
some wise man, 
That money, grief, and love can- 
not be hidden. 

(Enter Victorian in front.) 

net. Where'er thy step has 
passed is holy ground ! 
These groves are sacred! I be- 
hold thee walking 
Under these shadowy trees, where 

we have walked 
At evening, and I feel thy presence 

now; 
Feel that the place has taken a 

charm from thee, 
And is forever hallowed. 

Hyp. Mark him well ! 

See how he strides away with 

lordly air, 
Like that odd guest of stone, that 

grim Commander 
Who comes to sup with Juan in 
the play. 
Don C. What ho ! "Victorian ! 
Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us ? 
Vict. Hola .' amigos ! Faith, I 
did not see you. 
How fares Don Carlos? 
Don C. At your service ever. 
Vict. How is that young and 
green-eyed Gaditana 
That you both wot of ? 

Don C. Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 

She has gone back to Cadiz. 

Hyp. Ay de mi ! 

Vict. You are much to blame 

for letting her go back. 

A pretty girl; and in her tender 

eyes 
Just that soft shade of green we 

sometimes see 
In evening skies. 
Hyp. But, speaking of green 
eyes, 
Are thine green ? 
Vict. Not a whit. Why so ? 



Hyp. I think 

The slightest shade of green would 

be becoming, 
For thou art jealous. 

Vict. No, I am not jealous. 

Hyp. Thou shouldst be. 
Vict. Why? 

Hyp. Because thou art in love. 
And they who are in love are al- 
ways jealous. 
Therefore thou shouldst be. 

Vict. Marry, is that all ? 

Farewell; I am in haste. Fare- 
well, Don Carlos. 
Thou sayest I should be jealous ? 
Hyp. Ay, in truth 

I fear there is reason. Be upon thy 

guard. 
I hear it whispered that the Count 

of Lara 
Lays siege to the same citadel. 

Vict. Indeed ! 

Then he will have his labor for his 
pains. 
Hyp. He does not think so, and 
Don Carlos tells me 
He boasts of his success. 

Vict. How 's this, Don Carlos ? 
Don C. Some hints of it I heard 
from his own lips. 
He spoke but lightly of the lady's 

virtue, 
As a gay man might speak. 

Vict. Death and damnation ! 
I '11 cut his lying tongue out of his 

mouth, 
And throw it to my dog ! But, no, 

no, no ! 
This cannot be. You jest, indeed 

you jest. 
Trifle with me no more. For oth- 
erwise 
We are no longer friends. And so, 
farewell ! {Exit. 

Hyp. Now what a coil is here ! 
The Avenging Child 
Hunting the traitor Quadros to his 

death, 
And the great Moor Calaynos, 

when he rode 
To Paris for the ears of Oliver, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



45 



Were nothing to him! hot- 
headed youth ! 

But come ; we will not follow. Let 
us join 

The crowd that pours into the 
Prado. There 

We shall find merrier company ; I 
see 

The Marialonzos and the Almavi- 
vas, 

And fifty fans, that beckon me 
already. {Exeunt. 

Scene IV — Preciosa's cham- 
ber. She is sitting, with a book 
in her hand, near a table, on 
which are flowers. A bird sing- 
ing in its cage. The Count of 
Laka enters behind unperceived. 

Prec. {reads). 
All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 

Heigho ! I wish Victorian were 
here. 

I know not what it is makes me so 
restless ! 

( The bird sings.) 

Thou little prisoner with thy mot- 
ley coat, 

That from thy vaulted, wiry dun- 
geon singest, 

Like thee I am a captive, and, like 
thee, 

I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day ! 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 
All this throbbing, all this aching. 
Evermore shall keep thee waking, 
For a heart in sorrow breaking 
Thinketh ever of its smart ! 

Thou speakest truly, poet! and 

methinks 
More hearts are breaking in this 

world of ours 
Than one would say. In distant 

villages 
And solitudes remote, where winds 

have wafted 
The barbed seeds of love, or birds 

of passage 



Scattered them in their flight, do 

they take root, 
And grow in silence, and in silence 

perish. 
Who hears the falling of the forest 

leaf? 
Or who takes note of every flower 

that dies? 
Heigho ! I wish Victorian would 

come. 
Dolores ! 

( Turns to lay down her book, and 
perceives the Count.) 
Ha! 
Lara. Senora, pardon me 1 . 

Prec. How 's this ? Dolores ! 
Lara. Pardon me — 

Prec. Dolores ! 

Lara. Be not alarmed ; I found 
no one in waiting, 
If I have been too bold — 
Prec. {turning her back upon 
him). You are too bold ! 
Ketire ! retire, and leave me ! 

Lara, My dear lady, 

First hear me ! I beseech you, let 

me speak ! 
'T is for your good I come. 
Prec. {turning toward him 
with indignation) . Begone ! 
begone ! 
You are the Count of Lara, but 

your deeds 
Would make the statues of your 

ancestors 
Blush on their tombs ! Is it Cas- 

tilian honor, 
Is it Castilian pride, to steal in 

here 
Upon a friendless girl, to do her 

wrong ? 
Oh shame ! shame ! shame ! that 

you, a nobleman, 
Should be so little noble in your 

thoughts 
As to send jewels here to win my 

love, 
And think to buy my honor with 

your golfl ! 
I have no words to tell you how I 
scorn you ! 



46 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Begone ! The sight of you is hate- 
ful to me ! 

Begone, I say ! 
Lara. Be calm ; I will not harm 

you. 
Prec. Because you dare not. 
Lara. I dare anything ! 

Therefore beware ! You are de- 
ceived in me. 

In this false world, we do not al- 
ways know 

"Who are our friends and who our 
enemies. 

We all have enemies, and all need 
friends. 

Even you, fair Preciosa, here at 
court 

Have foes, who seek to wrong you. 
Prec. If to this 

I owe the honor of the present 
visit, 

You might have spared the com- 
ing. Having spoken, 

Once more I beg you, leave me to 
myself. 
Lara. I thought it but a friendly 
part to tell you 

What strange reports are current 
here in town. 

For my own self, I do not credit 
them; 

But there are many who, not know- 
ing you, 

Will lend a readier ear. 
Prec. There was no need 

That you should take upon your- 
self the duty 

Of telling me these tales. 
Lara. Malicious tongues 

Are ever busy with your name. 
Prec. Alas ! 

I've no protectors. I am a poor 
girl. 

Exposed to insults and unfeeling 
jest. 

They wound me, yet I cannot 
shield myself. 

I give no cause for these reports. 
I live 

Retired ; am visited by none. 



Lara. By none t 

Oh, then, indeed, you are much 

wronged ! 
Prec. How mean you ? 

Lara. Nay, nay; I will not 

wound your gentle soul 
By the report of idle tales. 

Prec. Speak out ! 

What are these idle tales? You 

need not spare me. 
Lara. I will deal frankly with 

you. Pardon me : 
This window, as I think, looks 

towards the street, 
And this into the Prado, does it 

not? 
In yon high house, beyond the 

garden wall, — 
You see the roof there just above 

the trees, — 
There lives a friend, who told me 

yesterday, 
That on a certain night, — be not 

offended 
If I too plainly speak, — he saw a 

man 
Climb to your chamber window. 

You are silent ! 
I would not blame you, being 

young and fair — 

(He tries to embrace her. She 
starts back, and draws a dagger 
from her bosom.) 

Prec. Beware ! beware ! I am a 
Gypsy girl ! 
Lay not your hand upon me. One 

step nearer 
And I will strike! 
Lara. Pray you, put up that 
dagger. 
Fear not. 
Prec. I do not fear. I have a 
heart 
In whose strength I can trust. 

Lara. Listen to me. 

I come here as your friend, — I am 

your friend, — 
And by a single word can put a 
stop 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



47 



To all those idle tales, and make 

your name 
Spotless as lilies are. Here on my 

knees, 
Fair Preciosa! on my knees I 

swear, 
I love you even to madness, and 

that love 
Has driven me to break the rules 

of custom, 
And force myself unasked into 

your presence. 

(Victorian enters behind.) 

Prec. Rise, Count of Lara ! That 
is not the place 

For such as you are. It becomes 
you not 

To kneel before me. I am 
strangely moved 

To see one of your rank thus low 
and humbled ; 

For your sake I will put aside all 
anger, 

All unkind feeling, all dislike, and 
speak 

In gentleness, as most becomes a 
woman, 

And as my heart now prompts me. 
I no more 

Will hate you, for all hate is pain- 
ful to me. 

But if, without offending mod- 
esty 

And that reserve which is a wo- 
man's glory, 

I may speak freely, I will teach 
my heart 

To love you. 
Lara. O sweet angel ! 
Prec. % Ay, in truth, 

Far better than you love yourself 
or me. 
Lara. Give me some sign of 
this, — the slightest token. 

Let me but kiss your hand ! 
Prec. Nay, come no nearer. 

The words I utter are its sign and 
token. 

Misunderstand me not! Be not 
deceived I 



The love wherewith I love you is 

not such 
As you would offer me. For you 

come here 
To take from me the only thing I 

have, 
My honor. You are wealthy, you 

have friends 
And kindred, and a thousand plea- 
sant hopes 
That fill your heart with happi- 
ness ; but I 
Am poor, and friendless, having 

but one treasure, 
And you would take that from me, 

and for what ? 
To flatter your own vanity, and 

m^ke me 
What you would most despise. 

Oh, sir, such love, 
That seeks to harm me, cannot be 

true love. 
Indeed it cannot. But my love for 

you 
Is of a different kind. It seeks 

your good. 
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
Your earthly passion, your un- 
chaste desires,. 
And bids you look into your heart, 

and see 
How you do wrong that better 

nature in you, 
And grieve your soul with sin. 

Lara. I swear to you, 

I would not harm you; I would 

only love you. 
I would not take your honor, but 

restore it, 
And in return I ask but some 

slight mark 
Of your affection. If indeed you 

love me, 
As you confess you do, oh, let me 

thus 
With this embrace — 

Vict, {rushing forward). Hold! 
hold ! This is too much. 
What means this outrage ? 
Lara. First, what right have 
you 



43 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



To question thus a nobleman of 
Spain ? 
Vict. I too am noble, and you 
are no more ! 
Out of my sight ! 
Lara. Are you the master here ? 
Vict. Ay, here and elsewhere, 
when the wrong of others 
Gives me the right ! 
Prec. (ioLARA). Go! I beseech 

you, go ! 
Vict. I shall have business with 

you, Count, anon ! 
Lara. You cannot come too 
soon ! {Exit. 

Prec. Victorian ! 

Oh, we have been betrayed ! 

Vict. Ha ! ha ! betrayed ! 

'T is I have been betrayed, not 

we ! — not we ! 

Prec. Dost thou imagine — 

Vict. I imagine nothing ; 

I see how 't is thou whilest the 

time away 
When I am gone ! 

Prec. Oh, speak not in that tone ! 
It wounds me deeply. 

Vict. 'T was not meant to flat- 
ter. 
Prec. Too well thou knowest 
the presence of that man 
Is hateful to me ! 

Vict. Yet I saw thee stand 

And listen to him, when he told 
his love. 
Prec. I did not heed his words. 
Vict. Indeed thou didst, 

And answeredst them with love. 
Prec. Hadst thou heard all — 
Vict. I heard enough. 
Prec. Be not so angry with me. 
Vict. I am not angry; I am very 

calm. 
Prec. If thou wilt let me speak — 
Vict. Nay, say no more. 

I know too much already. Thou 

art false ! 
I do not like these Gypsy mar- 
riages ! 
Where is the ring I gave thee ? 
Prec. In my casket. 



Vict. There let it rest ! I would 
not have thee wear it: 
I thought thee spotless, and thou 
art polluted ! 
Prec. I call the Heavens to wit- 
ness— 
Vict. Nay, nay, nay ! 

Take not the name of Heaven 

upon thy lips ! 
They are forsworn ! 
Prec. Victorian ! dear Victorian i 
Vict. I gave up all for thee ; my- 
self, my fame, 
My hopes of fortune, ay, my very 

soul ! 
And thou hast been my ruin! 

Now, go on ! 
Laugh at my folly with thy para- 
mour 
And, sitting on the Count of Lara's 

knee, 
Say what a poor, fond fool Victo- 
rian was ! 
{He casts her from him and rushes 
out.) 
Prec. And this from thee ! 
{Scene closes.) 

Scene V.— The Count of Lara's 
rooms. Enter the Count. 
Lara. There 's nothing in this 
world so sweet as love, 

And next to love the sweetest 
thing is hate ! 

I 've learned to hate, and there- 
fore am revenged. 

A silly girl to play the prude with 
me ! 

The fire that I have kindled — 

{Enter Francisco.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What tidings from Don Juan ? 

Fran. Good, my lord ; 

He will be present. 

Lara. And the Duke of Lermos \ 

Fran. Was not at home. 

Lara. How with the rest ? 

Fran. I 've found 

The men you wanted. They will 
all be there, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



49 



And at the given signal raise a 

whirlwind 
Of such discordant noises, that the 

dance 
Must cease for lack of music. 

Lara. Bravely done. 

Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet 

Preciosa, 
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep 

shall not close 
Thine eyes this night ! Give me my 

cloak and sword. {Exeunt. 

Scene VI. — A retired spot be- 
yond the city gates. Enter Vic- 
torian and Hypolito. 

Vict. Oh shame ! Oh shame ! 
Why do I walk abroad 

By daylight, when the very sun- 
shine mocks me, 

And voices, and familiar sights 
and sounds 

Cry, ' Hide thyself ! ' Oh, what a 
thin partition 

Doth shut out from the curious 
world the knowledge 

Of evil deeds that have been done 
in darkness ! 

Disgrace has many tongues. My 
fears are windows, 

Through which all eyes seem gaz- 
ing. Every face 

Expresses some suspicion of my 
shame. 

And in derision seems to smile at 
me! 
Hyp. Did I not caution thee? 
Did I not tell thee 

I was but half persuaded of her 
virtue ? 
Vict. And yet, Hypolito, we may 
be wrong, 

We may be over-hasty in condemn- 
ing! 

The Count of Lara is a cursed 
villain. 
Hyp. And therefore is she 

cursed, loving him. 
Vict. She does not love him ! 
'T is for gold ! for gold ! 



Hyp. Ay, but remember, in the 

public streets 
He shows a golden ring the Gypsy 

gave him, 
A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 
Vict. She had that ring from 

me ! God ! she is false ; 
But I will be revenged ! The hour 

is passed. 
Where stays the coward ? 

Hyp. Nay, he is no coward ; 
A villain, if thou wilt, but not a 

coward. 
I 've seen him play with swords ; 

it is his pastime. 
And therefore be not over-confi- 
dent, 
He '11 task thy skill anon. Look, 

here he comes. 

(Enter Lara followed by Fran- 
cisco.) 

Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Hyp. Good evening, Count. 

Lara. I trust I have not kept 

you long in waiting. 
Vict. Not long, and yet too long. 

Are you prepared ? 
Lara. I am. 

Hyp. It grieves me much to see 
this quarrel 
Between you, gentlemen. Is there 

no way 
Left open to accord this difference, 
But you must make one with your 
swords ? 
Vict. No ! none ! 

I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
Stand not between me and my foe. 

Too long 
Our tongues have spoken. Let 

these tongues of steel 
End our debate. Upon your guard, 
Sir Count. 

{They fight. Victorian disarms 
the Count.) 

Your life is mine ; and what shall 

now withhold me 
From sending your vile soul to its 

account ? 



50 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Lara. Strike! strike! 
Vict. You are disarmed. I will 
not kill you. 
I will not murder you. Take up 

your sword. 
(Francisco hands the Count his 
sword, and Hypolito inter- 
poses.) 

Hyp. Enough ! Let it end here ! 
The Count of Lara 
Has shown himself a brave man, 

and Victorian 
A generous one, as ever. Now be 

friends. 
Put up your swords ; for, to speak 

frankly to you, 
Your cause of quarrel is too slight 

a thing 
To move you to extremes. 

Lara. I am content. 

I sought no quarrel. A few hasty 

words, 
Spoken in the heat of blood, have 
led to this. 
Vict. Nay, something more than 

that. 
Lara. I understand you. 
Therein I did not mean to cross 

your path. 
To me the door stood open, as to 

others. 
But, had I known the girl belonged 

to you, 
Never would I have sought to win 

her from you. 
The truth stands now revealed ; 

she has been false 
To both of us. 
Vict. Ay, false as hell itself ! 
Lara. In truth, I did not seek 
her ; she sought me ; 
And told me how to win her, tell- 
ing me 
The hours when she was oftenest 
left alone. 
Vict. Say, can you prove this to 
me ? Oh, pluck out 
These awful doubts, that goad me 

into madness ! 
Let me know all ! all ! all I 



Lara. You shall know alL 

Here is my page, who was the mes- 
senger 
Between us. Question him. "Was 

it not so, 
Francisco ? 
Fran. Ay, my lord. 
Lara. If further proof 

Is needful, I have here a ring she 
gave me. 
Vict. Pray let me see that ring ! 
It is the same ! 

{Throws it upon the ground, and 

tramples upon it.) 
Thus may she perish who once 

wore that ring ! 
Thus do I spurn her from me ; do 

thus trample 
Her memory in the dust ! O Count 

of Lara, 
We both have been abused, been 

much abused ! 
I thank you for your courtesy and 

frankness. 
Though, like the surgeon's hand, 

yours gave me pain, 
Yet it has cured my blindness, and 

I thank you. 
I now can see the folly I have 

done, 
Though 't is, alas ! too late. So 

fare you well ! 
To-night I leave this hateful town 

forever. 
Kegard me as your friend. Once 

more farewell ! 
Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count. 

[Exeunt Victorian and Hy- 
polito. 
Lara. Farewell ! farewell ! fare- 
well ! 
Thus have I cleared the field of 

my worst foe ! 
I have none else to fear ; the fight 

is done, 
The citadel is stormed, the victory 
won! 

{Exit with Francisco. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



5* 



Bcene VII. — A lane in the sub- 
urbs. Night. Enter Cruzado 
and Bartolome. 

Cruz. And so, Bartolome, the ex- 
pedition failed. But where wast 
thou for the most part ? 

Bart. In the Guadarrama moun- 
tains, near San Ildefonso. 

Cruz. And thou hringest nothing 
hack with thee? Didst thou rob 
no one ? 

Bart. There was no one to rob, 
save a party of students from Se- 
govia, who looked as if they would 
rob us ; and a jolly little friar, who 
had nothing in his pockets but a 
missal and a loaf of bread. 

Cruz. Pray, then, what brings 
thee back to Madrid ? 

Bart. First tell me what keeps 
thee here ? 

Cruz. Preciosa. 

Bart. And she brings me back. 
Hast thou forgotten thy promise? 

Cruz. The two years are not 
passed yet. Wait patiently. The 
girl shall be thine. 

Bart. I hear she has a Busne 
lover. 

Cruz. That is nothing. 

Bart. I do not like it. I hate 
him, — the son of a Busne harlot. 
He goes in and out, and speaks 
with her alone, and I must stand 
aside, and wait his pleasure. 

Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou 
shalt have thy revenge. When the 
time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 

Bart. Meanwhile, show me her 
house. 

Cruz. Come this way. But thou 
wilt not find her. She dances at 
the play to-night. 

Bart.. No matter. Show me the 
house. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. — The Theatre. The 
orchestra plays the cachucha. 
Sound of castanets behind the 
scenes. The curtain rises, and 



discovers Preciosa in the atti- 
tude of commencing the dance. 
The cachucha. Tumult ; hisses ; 
cries of ' Brava '. ' and ' Afuera ! ' 
She falters and pauses. The 
music stops. General confusion, 
Preciosa faints. 

Scene IX. — The Count of 

Lara's chambers. Lara and 

his friends at supper. 

Lara. So, Caballeros, once more 

many thanks ! 

You have stood by me bravely in 

this matter. 
Pray fill your glasses. 

Don J. Did you mark, Don Luis, 
How pale she looked, when first 

the noise began, 
And then stood still, with her large 

eyes dilated ! 
Her nostrils spread ! her lips apart ! 

her bosom 
Tumultuous as the sea ! 
Don L. I pitied her. 

Lara. Her pride is humbled; 
and this very night 
I mean to visit her. 
Don J. Will you serenade her ? 
Lara. No music ! no more mu- 
sic! 
Don L. Why not music ? 
It softens many hearts. 

Lara. Not in the humor 

She now is in. Music would mad- 
den her. 
Don J. Try golden cymbals. 
Don L. Yes, try Don Diuero ; 
A mighty wooer is your Don 
Dinero. 
Lara. To tell the truth, then, I 
have bribed her maid. 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this 

wine. 
A bumper and away ; for the night 

wears. 
A health to Preciosa. 

( They rise and drink.) 
All. Preciosa. 

Lara {holding up his glass). 



52 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Thou bright and flaming 

minister of Love ! 
Thou wonderful magician ! who 

hast stolen 
My secret from me, and 'mid sighs 

of passion 
Caught from my lips, with red and 

fiery tongue, 
Her precious name! Oh never- 
more henceforth 
Shall mortal lips press thine ; and 

nevermore 
A mortal name be whispered in 

thine ear. 
Go ! keep my secret ! 
{Drinks and dashes the goblet 
down.) 
Don J. Ite ! missa est ! 

{Scene closes.) 

Scene X. — Street and garden 

wall. Night. Enter Cruzado 

and Bartolome\ 

Cruz. This is the garden wall, 
and above it, yonder, is her house. 
The window in which thou seest 
the light is her window. But we 
will not go in now. 

Bart. Why not? 

Cruz. Because she is not at 
home. 

Bart. No matter; we can wait. 
But how is this? The gate is 
bolted. {Sound of guitars and 
voices in a neighboring street.) 
Hark! There comes her lover 
with his infernal serenade ! Hark ! 

SONG. 
Good night ! Good night, beloved ! 

I come to watch o'er thee ! 
To be near thee, — to be near thee, 

Alone is peace for me. 

Thine eyes are stars of morning, 
Thy lips are crimson flowers ! 

Good night ! Good night, beloved, 
"While I count the weary hours. 

Cruz. They are not coming this 
way. 
Bart. Wait, they begin again. 



song {coming nearer). 
Ah ! thou moon that shinest 

Argent-clear above ! 
All night long enlighten 

My sweet lady-love ; 

Moon that shinest, 
All night long enlighten ! 

Bart. Woe be to him, if he comes 
this way ! 

Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing 
down the street. 

SONG {dying away). 
The nuns in the cloister 

Sang to each other ; 
For so many sisters 

Is there not oue brother ! 
Ay, for the partridge, mother ! 
The cat has run away with the par- 
tridge ! 
Puss ! puss ! puss ! 

Bart. Follow that! follow that! 
Come with me. Puss! puss! 

{Exeunt. On the opposite side 

enter the Count of Lara and 

gentlemen with FRANCISCO.) 

Lara. The gate is fast. Over 

the wall, Francisco, 

And draw the bolt. There, so, and 

so, and over. 
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help 

me scale 
Yon balcony. How now? Her 

light still burns. 
Move warily. Make fast the gate, 

Francisco. 
{Exeunt. Reenter Cruzado and 
Bartolome.) 
Bart. They went in at the gate. 
Hark ! I hear them in the garden. 
{Tries the gate) Bolted again! 
Vive Cristo ! Follow me over the 
wall. 

( They climb the wall.) 

Scene XL — Prectosa's bed- 
chamber. Midnight. She is 
sleeping in an arm-chair, in an 
undress. Dolores watching 
her. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



53 



Dol. She sleeps at last ! 
{Opens the window, and listens.) 
All silent in the street, 
And in the garden. Hark ! 
Prec. {in her sleep). I must go 
hence ! 
Give me my cloak ! 
Dol. He comes! I hear his 

footsteps. 
Prec. Go tell them that I cannot 
dance to-night ; 
I am too ill ! Look at me ! See 

the fever 
That hums upon my cheek! I 

must go hence. 
I am too weak to dance. 

{Signal from, the garden.) 
Dol. {from the window) . "Who 's 

there ? 
Voice {from below). A friend. 
Dol. I will undo the door. Wait 

till I come. 
Prec. I must go hence. I pray 
you do not harm me ! 
Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble 

woman thus ! 
Be you hut kind, I will do all things 

for you. 
I 'm ready now, — give me my cas- 
tanets. 
Where is Victorian? Oh, those 

hateful lamps ! 
They glare upon me like an evil 

eye. 
I cannot stay. Hark! how they 

mock at me ! 
They hiss at me like serpents! 
Save me ! save me ! 
{She wakes.) 
How late is it, Dolores ? 
Dol. It is midnight. 

Prec. We must be patient. 
Smooth this pillow for me. 

{She sleeps again. Noise from the 
garden, and voices.) 
Voice. Muera ! 

Another voice. O villains! vil- 
lains 1 
Lara. So ! have at you ! 

Voice. Take that ! 



Lara. Oh, I am wounded ; 

Dol. {shutting tlie window). 
Jesu Maria ! 



ACT III 

Scene I. — A cross-road through 
a wood. In the background a 
distant village spire. Victo- 
rian and Hypolito, as trav- 
elling students, with guitars, sit- 
ting under the trees. Hypolito 
plays and sings. 

SONG. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Enemy 
Of all that mankind may not rue ! 

Most untrue 
To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me ! 
The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy 

with his shuttle, 
Is ever weaving into life's dull 

warp 
Bright, gorgeous flowers and 

scenes Arcadian ; 
Hanging our gloomy prison-house 

about 
With tapestries, that make its 

walls dilate 
In never-ending vistas of delight. 
Hyp. Thinking to walk in those 

Arcadian pastures, 
Thou hast run thy noble head 

against the wall. 

song {continued). 

Thy deceits 
Give us clearly to comprehend, 

Whither tend 
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets 1 

They are cheats, 
Thorns below and flowers above. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vict. A very pretty song. I 
thank thee for it. 



54 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Hyp. It suits thy case. 
Vict. Indeed, I think it does. 
What wise man wrote it ? 
Hyp. Lopez Maldonado. 

Vict. In truth, a pretty song, 
Hyp. With much truth in it. 

I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and 

in earnest 
Try to forget this lady of thy 

love. 
Vict. I will forget her! All 

dear recollections 
Pressed in my heart, like flowers 

within a hook, 
Shall he torn out, and scattered to 

the winds ! 
I will forget her! But perhaps 

hereafter, 
When she shall learn how heartless 

is the world, 
A voice within her will repeat my 

name, 
And she will say, ' He was indeed 

my friend ! ' 
Oh, would I were a soldier, not a 

scholar, 
That the loud march, the deafen- 
ing heat of drums, 
The shattering blast of the brass- 
throated trumpet, 
The din of arms, the onslaught and 

the storm, 
And a swift death, might make me 

deaf forever 
To the upbraidings of this foolish 

heart ! 
Hyp. Then let that foolish heart 

upbraid no more ! 
To conquer love, one need but will 

to conquer. 
Vict. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in 

vain 
I throw into Oblivion's sea the 

sword 
That pierces me ; for, like Excali- 

bar, 
With gemmed and flashing hilt, it 

will not sink. 
There rises from below a hand that 

grasps it, 



And waves it in the air ; and wail- 
ing voices 
Are heard along the shore. 

Hyp. And yet at last 

Down sank Excalibar to rise no 

more. 
This is not well. In truth, it vexes 

me. 
Instead of whistling to the steeds 

of Time, 
To make them jog on merrily with 

life's burden, 
Like a dead weight thou hangest 

on the wheels. 
Thou art too young, too full of 

lusty health 
To talk of dying. 

Vict. Yet I fain would dit ! 

To go through life, unloving and 

unloved 
To feel that thirst and hunger of 

the soul 
We cannot still ; that longing, that 

wild impulse, 
And struggle after something we 

have not 
And cannot have ; the effort to be 

strong ; 
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, 

and smile, 
While secret wounds do bleed be- 
neath our cloaks ; 
All this the dead feel not, — the 

dead alone ! 
Would I were with them ! 
Hyp. We shall all be soon. 

Vict. It cannot be too soon ; for 

I am weary 
Of the bewildering masquerade of 

Life, 
Where strangers walk as friends, 

and friends as strangers ; 
Where whispers overheard betray 

false hearts; 
And through the mazes of the 

crowd we chase 
Some form of loveliness, that 

smiles, and beckons, 
And cheats us with fair words, 

only to leave us 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



55 



A mockery and a jest ; maddened, 

— confused, — 
Not knowing friend from foe. 

Hyp. Why seek to know? 

Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy 

youth ! 
Take each fair mask for what it 

gives itself, 
Nor strive to look beneath it. 

Vict. I confess, 

That were the wiser part. But 

Hope no longer 
Comforts my soul. I am a 

wretched man, 
Much like a poor and shipwrecked 

mariner, 
Who, struggling to climb up into 

the boat, 
Has both his bruised and bleeding 

hands cut off, 
And sinks again into the weltering 

sea, 
Helpless and hopeless ! 
Hyp. Yet thou shalt not per- 
ish. 
The strength of thine own arm is 

thy salvation. 
Above thy head, through rifted 

clouds, there shines 
A glorious star. Be patient. Trust 

thy star ! 
(Sound of a village bell in the dis- 
tance.) 
Vict. Ave Maria! I hear the 

sacristan 
Kinging the chimes from yonder 

village belfry ! 
A solemn sound, that echoes far 

and wide 
Over the red roofs of the cottages, 
And bids the laboring hind afield, 

the shepherd, 
Guarding his flock, the lonely 

muleteer, 
And all the crowd in village 

streets, stand still, 
And breathe a prayer unto the 

blessed Virgin ! 
Hyp. Amen ! amen ! Not half a 

league from hence 
The village lies. 



Vict. This path will lead us to it, 
Over the wheat-fields, where the 

shadows sail 
Across the running sea, now green, 

now blue, 
And, like an idle mariner on the 

main, 
Whistles the quail. Come, let us 

hasten on. {Exeunt. 

Scejnte II. — Public square in the 
village of Guadarrama. The 
Ave Maria still tolling. A crowd 
of villagers, with their hats in 
their hands, as if in prayer. In 
front, a group of Gypsies. The 
bell rings a merrier peal. A 
Gypsy dance. Enter Pancho, 
followed by Pedro Crespo. 

Pancho. Make room, ye vaga- 
bonds and Gypsy thieves ! 

Make room for the Alcalde and 
for me ! 
Pedro C. Keep silence all ! I 
have an edict here 

From our most gracious lord, the 
King of Spain, 

Jerusalem, and the Canary Is- 
lands, 

Which I shall publish in the mar- 
ket-place. 

Open your ears and listen ! 

(Enter the Padre Cura at the 
door of his cottage.) 

Padre Cura, 
Good day ! and, pray you, hear this 
edict read. 
Padre C. Good day, and God be 
with you ! 
Pray, what is it ? 
Pedro C. An act of banishment 
against the Gypsies ! 
(Agitation and murmurs in the 
crowd.) 
Pancho. Silence ! 
Pedro C. (reads). 'I hereby 
order and command, 
That the Egyptian and Chaldean 
strangers, 



56 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Known by the name of Gypsies, 

shall henceforth 
Be banished from the realm, as 

vagabonds 
And beggars ; and if, after seventy 

days, 
Any be found within our kingdom's 

bounds, 
They shall receive a hundred 

lashes each ; 
The second time, shall have their 

ears cut off ; 
The third, be slaves for life to him 

who takes them, 
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, 

the King.' 
Vile miscreants and creatures un- 

baptized ! 
You hear the law ! Obey and dis- 
appear ! 
Pancho. And if in seventy days 

you are not gone, 
Dead or alive I make you all my 

slaves. 
( The Gypsies go out in confusion, 
showing signs of fear and dis- 
content. Pancho follows.) 
Padre C. A righteous law! A 

very righteous law ! 
Pray you, sit down. 

Pedro C. I thank you heartily. 
( They seat themselves on a bench 
at the Padre Cura's door. 
Sound of guitars heard at a 
distance, approaching during 
the dialogue which follows.) 
A very righteous judgment, as you 

say. 
Now tell me, Padre Cura, — you 

know all things, — 
How came these Gypsies into 

Spain? 
Padre C. Why, look you ; 
They came with Hercules from 

Palestine, 
And hence are thieves and va- 
grants, Sir Alcalde, 
As the Simoniacs from Simon 

Magus. 
And, look you, as Fray Jayme 

Bleda says, 



There are a hundred marks to 

prove a Moor 
Is not a Christian, so 't is with the 

Gypsies. 
They never marry, never go to 

mass, 
Never baptize their children, nor 

keep Lent, 
Nor see the inside of a church, — 

nor — nor — 
Pedro C. Good reasons, good, 

substantial reasons all ! 
No matter for the other ninety- 
five. 
They should be burnt, I see it plain 

enough, 
They should be burnt. 

(Enter Victorian and Hypo- 
lito playing.) 
Padre C. And pray, whom have 

we here ? 
Pedro C. More vagrants ! By 
Saint Lazarus, more va- 
grants ! 
Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen ! 

Is this Guadarrama ? 
Padre C. Yes, Guadarrama, and 

good evening to you. 
Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura 
of the village ; 
And, judging from your dress and 

reverend mien, 
You must be he, 
Padre C. I am. Pray, what's 

your pleasure ? 
Hyp. We are poor students 
travelling in vacation. 
You know this mark ? 
( Touching the wooden spoon in his 
hat-band.) 
Padre C. (joyfirtly). Ay, know 

it, and have worn it. 

Pedro C. (aside). Soup-eaters ! 

by the mass ! The worst of 

vagrants ! 

And there 's no law against them. 

Sir, your servant. [Exit 

Padre C. Your servant, Pedra 

Crespo. 
Hyp. Padre Cura, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



57 



From the first moment I beheld 
your face, 

I said within myself, ' This is the 
man!' 

There is a certain something in 
your looks, 

A certain scholar-like and studi- 
ous something, — 

You understand, — which cannot 
be mistaken ; 

"Which marks you as a very learned 
man, 

In fine, as one of us. 

Vict, {aside). What impudence ! 
Hyp. As we approached, I said 
to my companion, 

1 That is the Padre Cura ; mark my 
words ! ' 

Meaning your Grace. ' The other 
man,' said I, 

' Who sits so awkwardly upon the 
bench, 

Must be the sacristan.' 
Padre C. Ah! said you so? 

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the 
Alcalde ! 
Hyp. Indeed ! you much aston- 
ish me ! His air 

Was not so full of dignity and 
grace 

As an Alcalde's should be 
Padre C. That is true, 

He 's out of humor with some va- 
grant Gypsies, 

Who have their camp here in the 
neighborhood. 

There 's nothing so undignified as 
anger. 
Hyp. The Padre Cura will ex- 
cuse our boldness, 

If, from his well-known hospitality, 

We crave a lodging for the night. 
Padre C. I pray you ! 

You do me honor! I am but too 
happy 

To have such guests beneath my 
humble roof. 

It is not often that I have occasion 

To speak with scholars ; and Emol- 
lit mores, 

Wee sinit esseferos, Cicero says. 



Hyp. 'T is Ovid, is it not ? 
Padre C. No, Cicero. 

Hyp. Your Grace is right. You 
are the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was I to think 

it Ovid ! 
But hang me if it is not ! (Aside.) 
Padre C. Pass tbis way. 

He was a very great man, was 

Cicero ! 
Pray you, go in, go in! no cere- 
mony. {Exeunt. 

Scene III.— A roominthe Padre 
Cura's house. Enter the Padre 
and Hypolito. 

Padre C. So then, Senor, you 
come from Alcala. 
I am glad to hear it. It was there 
I studied. 
Hyp. And left behind an hon- 
ored name, no doubt. 
How may I call your Grace ? 

Padre C. Gerdnimo 

De Santillana, at your Honor's ser- 
vice. 
Hyp. Descended from the Mar- 
quis Santillana? 
From the distinguished poet? 

Padre C. From the Marquis, 
Not from the poet. 

Hyp. Why, they were the same. 
Let me embrace you! Oh, some 

lucky star 
Has brought me hither ! Yet once 

more ! — once more ! 
Your name is ever green in Al- 
cala, 
And our professor, when we are 

unruly, 
Will shake his hoary head, and 

say, ' Alas ! 
It was not so in Santillana's time ! ' 
Padre C. I did not think my 

name remembered there. 
Hyp. More than remembered ; it 

is idolized. 
Padre C. Of what professor 

speak you ? 
Hyp. Timoneda. 



58 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Padre C. I don't remember any 

Timoneda. 
Hyp. A grave and sombre man, 

whose beetling brow 
O'erhangs the rushing current of 

his speech 
As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have 

you forgotten ? 
Padre C. Indeed, I have. Oh, 

those were pleasant days, 
Those college days ! I ne'er shall 

see the like ! 
I had not buried then so many 

hopes ! 
I had not buried then so many 

friends ! 
I 've turned my back on what was 

then before me ; 
And the bright faces of my young 

companions 
Are wrinkled like my own, or are 

no more. 
Do you remember Cueva? 
Hyp. Cueva? Cueva? 

Padre C. Fool that I am ! He 

was before your time. 
You 're a mere boy, and I am an 

old man. 
Hyp. I should not like to try 

my strength with you. 
Padre C. Well, well. But I 

forget; you must be hun- 
gry. 
Martina ! ho ! Martina ! 'T is my 

niece. 

(Enter Martina.) 

Hyp. You may be proud of such 
a niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece. Emollit 

mores. (Aside.) 
He was a very great man, was Ci- 
cero ! 
Your servant, fair Martina. 
Mart. Servant, sir. 

Padre C. This gentleman is 
hungry. See thou to it. 
Let us have supper. 
Mart. 'T will be ready soon. 
Padre C. And bring a bottle of 
my Val-de-Pehas 



Out of the cellar. Stay; I'll go 

myself. 
Pray you, Senor, excuse me. [Exit. 

Hyp. Hist! Martina! 

One word with you. Bless me » 

what handsome eyes ! 
To-day there have been Gypsies in 

the village. 
Is it not so ? 
Mart. There have been Gypsies 

here. 
Hyp. Yes, and have told your 

fortune. 
Mart, (embarrassed). Told my 

fortune ? 
Hyp. Yes, yes; I know they 

did. Give me your hand. 
I '11 tell you what they said. They 

said, — they said, 
The shepherd boy that loved you 

was a clown, 
And him you should not marry. 

Was it not ? 
Mart, (surprised). How know 

you that ? 
Hyp. Oh, I know more than that. 
What a soft, little hand ! And then 

they said, 
A cavalier from court, handsome, 

and tall 
And rich, should come one day to 

marry you, 
And you should be a lady. Was it 

not? 
He has arrived, the handsome cav- 
alier. 

(Tries to kiss her. She runs off. 
Enter Victorian, with a letter.) 
Vict, The muleteer has come. 
Hyp. So soon ? 

Vict. I found him 

Sitting at supper by the tavern 

door, 
And, from a pitcher that he held 

aloft 
His whole arm's length, drinking 
the blood-red wine. 
Hyp. What news from Court ? 
Vict. He brought this letter only 
(Reads.) 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



59 



Oh, cursed perfidy ! "Why did I let 
That lying tongue deceive me! 

Preciosa, 
Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou 

avenged ! 
Hyp. What news is this, that 

makes thy cheek turn pale, 
And thy hand tremble ? 

Vict. Oh, most infamous ! 

The Count of Lara is a worthless 

villain ! 
Hyp. That is no news, forsooth. 
Vict. He strove in vain 

To steal from me the jewel of my 

soul, 
The love of Preciosa. Not suc- 
ceeding, 
He swore to be revenged ; and set 

on foot 
A plot to ruin her, which has suc- 
ceeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted 

from the stage, 
Her reputation stained by slander- 
ous lies 
Too foul to speak of; and, once 

more a beggar, 
She roams a wanderer over God's 

green earth, 
Housing with Gypsies ! 

Hyp. To renew again 

The Age of Gold, and make the 

shepherd swains 
Desperate with love, like Gasper 

Gil's Diana. 
Eedit et Virgo ! 

Vict. Dear Hypolito, 

How have I wronged that meek, 

confiding heart ! 
I will go seek for her ; and with 

my tears 
Wash out the wrong I 've done 

her! 
Hyp. Oh, beware ! 

Act not that folly o'er again. 

Vict. Ay, folly, 

Delusion, madness, call it what 

thou wilt, 
I will confess my weakness, — I 

still love her ! 
Still fondly love her! 



{Enter the Padre Cura.) 
Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura, 

Who are these Gypsies in the 
neighborhood ? 
Padre C. Beltran Cruzado and 

his crew. 
Vict. Kind Heaven, 

I thank thee! She is found! is 
found again .' 
Hyp. And have they with them 
a pale, beautiful girl, 
Called Preciosa ? 

Padre C. Ay, a pretty girl. 

The gentleman seems moved. 

Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger, 

He is half famished with this long 

day's journey. 

Padre C. Then, pray you, come 

this way. The supper waits. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — A post-house on the 
road to Segovia, not far from, the 
village of Guadarrama. Enter 
Chispa, cracking a whip, and 
singing the cachucha. 
Chispa. Halloo ! Don Fulano ! 
Let us have horses, and quickly. 
Alas, poor Chispa! what a dog's 
life dost thou lead! I thought, 
when I left my old master Victo- 
rian, the student, to serve my new 
master Don Carlos, the gentleman, 
that I, too, should lead the life of a 
gentleman ; should go to bed early, 
and get up late. For when the 
abbot plays cards, what can you 
expect of the friars ? But, in run- 
ning away from the thunder, I 
have run into the lightning. Here 
I am in hot chase after my master 
and his Gypsy girl. And a good 
beginning of the week it is, as he 
said who was hanged on Monday 
morning. 

(Enter Don Carlos.) 
Don C. Are not the horses ready 

yet? 
Chispa. I should think not, for 

the hostler seems to be asleep. 



6o 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Ho ! within there ! Horses ! horses ! 
horses! (He knocks at the gate 
with his whip, and enter Mos- 
quito, putting on his jacket.) 

Mosq. Pray, have a little pa- 
tience. I 'm not a musket. 

Chispa. Health and pistareens ! 
I 'm glad to see you come on dan- 
cing, padre ! Pray, what 's the 
news? 

Mosq. You cannot have fresh 
horses ; because there are none. 

Chispa. Cachiporra ! Throw 
that bone to another dog. Do I 
look like your aunt ? 

Mosq. No ; she has a beard. 

Chispa. Go to ! go to ! 

Mosq. Are you from Madrid ? 

Chispa. Yes ; and going to Es- 
tramadura. Get us horses. 

Mosq. What 's the news at 
Court? 

Chispa. Why, the latest news is, 
that I am going to set up a coach, 
and I have already bought the 
whip. 

(Strikes him round the legs.) 

Mosq. Oh ! oh ! you hurt me ! 

Bon C. Enough of this folly. 
Let us have horses. ( Gives money 
to Mosquito.) It is almost dark ; 
and we are in haste. But tell me, 
has a band of Gypsies passed this 
way of late ? 

Mosq. Yes ; and they are still in 
the neighborhood. 

Bon C. And where ? 

Mosq. Across the fields yonder, 
in the woods near Guadarrama. 

{Exit. 

Bon C. Now this is lucky. We 
will visit the Gypsy camp. 

Chispa. Are you not afraid of 
the evil eye? Have you a stag's 
horn with you ? 

Bon C. Fear not. We will pass 
the night at the village. 

Chispa. And sleep like the 
Squires of Hernan Daza, nine un- 
der one blanket. 



Bon C. I hope we may find the 
Preciosa among them. 

Chispa. Among the Squires ? 

Bon C. No; among the Gypsies, 
blockhead ! 

Chispa. I hope we may; for 
we are giving ourselves trouble 
enough on her account. Dont 
you think so ? However, there is 
no catching trout without wetting 
one's trousers. Yonder come the 
horses, {Exeunt, 

Scene V. — The Gypsy camp in 
the forest. Night. Gypsies work- 
ing at a forge. Others playing 
cards by the firelight. 
Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

On the top of a mountain I stand, 
With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea, 
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, 

flee? 
Oh how from their fury shall I flee ? 

First Gypsy (playi?ig). Down 
with your John-Dorados, my pi- 
geon. Down with your John-Do- 
rados, and let us make an end. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

Loud sang the Spanish cavalier 

And thus his ditty ran ; 
God send the Gypsy lassie here 

And not the Gypsy man. 

First Gypsy (playing). There 
you are in your morocco ! 

Second Gypsy. One more game. 
The Alcalde's doves against the 
Padre Cura's new moon. 

First Gypsy. Have at you, Chire- 
lin. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

At midnight, when the moon began 

To show her silver flame. 
There came to him no Gypsy man, ■} 

The Gypsy lassie came. 

(Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 

Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalle. 
ros and Rastilleros; leave work, 



THE SPANISH (STUDENT 



61 



leave play; listen to your orders 
for the night. (Speaking to the 
right.) You will get you to the 
village, mark you, by the stone 
cross. 

Gypsies. Ay! 

Cruz, (to the left). And you, by 
the pole with the hermit's head 
upon it. 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. As soon as you see the 
planets are out, in with you, and be 
busy with the ten commandments, 
under the sly, and Saint Martin 
asleep. D' ye hear ? 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, 
and, if you see a goblin or a pa- 
pagayo, take to your trampers. 
Vineyards and Dancing John is 
the word. Am I comprehended? 

Gypsies. Ay ! ay ! 

Cruz. Away, then ! 
(Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks 

up the stage, and disappears 

among the trees. Enter Pre- 

ciosa.) 

Pree. How strangely gleams 
through the gigantic trees, 
The red light of the forge ! Wild, 

beckoning shadows 
Stalk through the forest, ever and 

anon 
Kising and bending with the flick- 
ering flame, 
Then flitting into darkness! So 

within me 
Strange hopes and fears do beckon 

to each other, 
My brightest hopes giving dark 

fears a being 
As the light does the shadow. 

Woe is me ! 
How still it is about me, and how 
lonely ! 
(Bartolome rushes in.) 

Bart. Ho! Preciosa ! 

Prec. O Bartolome ! 

Thou here ? 

Bart. Lo ! I am here. 

Prec. Whence comest thou? 



Bart. From the rough ridges of 

the wild Sierra, 
From caverns in the rocks, from 

hunger, thirst, 
And fever! Like a wild wolf to 

the sheepfold 
Come I for thee, my lamb. 

Prec. Oh, touch me not ! 

The Count of Lara's blood is on 

thy hands ! 
The Count of Lara's curse is on thy 

soul! 
Do not come near me ! Pray, be- 
gone from here ! 
Thou art in danger! They have 

set a price 
Upon thy head ! 
Bart. Ay, and I've wandered 

long 
Among the mountains; and for 

many days 
Have seen no human face, save the 

rough swineherd's. 
The wind and rain have been my 

sole companions. 
I shouted to them from the rocks 

thy name, 
And the loud echo sent it back to 

me, 
Till I grew mad. I could not stay 

from thee, 
And I am here ! Betray me, if thou 

wilt. 
Prec. Betray thee? I betray 

thee? 
Bart. Preciosa ! 

I come for thee ! for thee I thus 

brave death ! 
Fly with me o'er the borders of 

this realm ! 
Fly with me ! 
Prec. Speak of that no more. I 

cannot. 
I 'm thine no longer. 

Bart. Oh, recall the time 

When we were children ! how we 

played together, 
How we grew up together; how 

we plighted 
Our hearts unto each other, even 

in childhood ! 



62 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has 

come. 
I 'm hunted from the kingdom, like 

a wolf ! 
Fulfil thy promise. 

Prec. 'T was my father's promise, 
Not mine. I never gave my heart 

to thee, 
Nor promised thee my hand ! 

Bart. False tongue of woman ! 
And heart more false ! 

Prec. Nay, listen unto me. 

I will speak frankly. I have never 

loved thee ; 
I cannot love thee. This is not my 

fault, 
It is my destiny. Thou art a 

man 
Kestless and violent. What wouldst 

thou with me, 
A feehle girl, who have not long to 

live, 
Whose heart is broken? Seek 

another wife, 
Better than I, and fairer ; and let 

not 
Thy rash and headlong moods 

estrange her from thee. 
Thou art unhappy in this hopeless 

passion. 
I never sought thy love ; never did 

aught 
To make thee love me. Yet I pity 

thee, 
And most of all I pity thy wild 

heart, 
That hurries thee to crimes and 

deeds of blood. 
Beware, beware of that. 

Part. For thy dear sake 

I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach 
me patience. 
Prec. Then take this farewell, 
and depart in peace. 
Thou must not linger here. 
Part. Come, come with me. 

Prec. Hark ! I hear footsteps. 
Bart. I entreat thee, come ! 

Prec. Away ! It is in vain. 
Bart. Wilt thou not come ? 

Prec. Never! 



Bart. Then woe, eternal woe, 
upon thee ! 

Thou shalt not be another's. Thou 
shalt die. \_Exit. 

Prec. All holy angels keep me 
in this hour ! 

Spirit of her who bore me, look 
upon me ! 

Mother of God, the glorified, pro- 
tect me ! 

Christ and the saints, be merciful 
unto me ! 

Yet why should I fear death? 
What is it to die ? 

To leave all disappointment, care, 
and sorrow, 

To leave all falsehood, treachery, 
and unkindness, 

All ignominy, suffering, and de- 
spair, 

And be at rest forever! O dull 
heart, 

Be of good cheer! When thou 
shalt cease to beat, 

Then shalt thou cease to suffer and 
complain ! 

{Enter Victorian and Hypolito 
behind.) 
Vict. 'T is she ! Behold, how 
beautiful she stands 

Under the tent-like trees ! 
Hyp. A woodland nymph ! 

Vict. I pray thee, stand aside. 

Leave me. 
Hyp. Be wary, 

Do not betray thyself too soon. 
Vict, {disguising his voice). 
Hist! Gypsy! 

Prec. {aside, with emotion). That 
voice! that voice from hea- 
ven ! Oh, speak again ! 

Who is it calls ? 

Vict. A friend. 

Prec. {aside) . 'T is he ! 'T is he ! 

I thank thee, Heaven, that thou 
hast heard my prayer, 

And sent me this protector ! Now 
be strong, 

Be strong, my heart ! I must di» 
semble here. 

False friend or true ? 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



63 



Vict. A true friend to the true ; 
Fear not; come hither. So; can 
you tell fortunes ? 
Free. Not in the dark. Come 
nearer to the fire. 
Give me your hand. It is not 
crossed, I see. 
Vict, (putting a piece of gold 
into her hand). There is the 
cross. 
Free. Is 't silver? 
Vict. No, 't is gold. 

Free. There 's a fair lady at the 
Court, who loves you, 
And for yourself alone. 

Vict. Fie ! the old story ! 

Tell me a better fortune for my 

money ; 
Not this old woman's tale ! 

Free. You are passionate ; 

And this same passionate humor 

in your blood 
Has marred your fortune. Yes ; I 

see it now ; 
The line of life is crossed by many 

marks. 
Shame ! shame ! Oh, you have 
wronged the maid who loved 
you ! 
How could you do it? 

Vict. I never loved a maid ; 

For she I loved was then a maid 
no more. 
Prec. How kDOw you that ? 
Vict. A little bird in the air 

Whispered the secret. 
Free. There, take back your 
gold! 
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's 

hand! 
There is no blessing in its char- 
ity! 
Make her your wife, for you have 

been abused ; 
And you shall mend your fortunes, 
mending hers. 
Vict, (aside). How like an angel's 
speaks the tongue of wo- 
man, 
When pleading in another's cause 
her own ! 



That is a pretty ring upon your 

finger. 
Pray give it me. ( Tries to take the 

ring.) 
Free. No ; never from my hand 
Shall that be taken ! 

Vict. Why, t is but a ring. 

I '11 give it back to you ; or, if I 

keep it, 
Will give you gold to buy you 

twenty such. 
Free. Why would you have this 

ring? 
Vict. A traveller's fancy, 

A whim, and nothing more. I 

would fain keep it 
As a memento of the Gypsy camp 
In Guadarrama, and the fortune- 
teller 
Who sent me back to wed a wid- 
owed maid. 
Pray, let me have the ring. 

Free. No, never ! never ! 

I will not part with it, even when 

I die; 
But bid my nurse fold my pale 

fingers thus, 
That it may not fall from them. 

'T is a token 
Of a beloved friend, who is no more. 
Vict. How? dead? 
Free. Yes; dead to me; and 

worse than dead. 
He is estranged ! And yet I keep 

this ring. 
I will rise with it from my grave 

hereafter, 
To prove to him that I was never 

false. 
Vict, (aside). Be still, my swell- 
ing heart ! one moment, still ! 
Why, 'tis the folly of a love-sick 

girl. 
Come, give it me, or I will say 't is 

mine, 
And that you stole it. 

Free. Oh, you will not dare 

To utter such a falsehood ! 

Vict. I not dare ? 

Look in my face, and say if there 

is aught 



6 4 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



I have not dared, I would not dare 
for thee ! 

(She rushes into his arms.) 

Prec. 'T is thou ! 't is thou ! Yes ; 
yes ; my heart's elected ! 
My dearest-dear Victorian! my 

soul's heaven ! 
Where hast thou been so long? 
Why didst thou leave me ? 
Vict. Ask me not now, my dear- 
est Preciosa. 
Let me forget we ever have been 
parted ! 
Prec. Hadst thou not come — 
Vict. I pray thee, do not chide 

me ! 
Prec. I should have perished 

here among these Gypsies. 
Vict. Forgive me, sweet ! for 
what I made thee suffer. 
Think'st thou this heart could feel 

a moment's joy, 
Thou being absent? Oh, believe 

it not ! 
Indeed, since that sad hour I have 

not slept, 
For thinking of the wrong I did 

to thee ! 
Dost thou forgive me? Say, wilt 
thou forgive me ? 
Prec. I have forgiven thee. Ere 
those words of anger 
Were in the book of Heaven writ 

down against thee, 
I had forgiven thee. 

Vict. I 'm the veriest fool 

That walks the earth, to have be- 
lieved thee false. 
It was the Count of Lara — 

Prec. That bad man 

Has worked me harm enough. 

Hast thou not heard — 

Vict. I have heard all. And yet 

speak on, speak on ! 

Let me but hear thy voice, and I 

am happy ; 
For every tone, like some sweet 

incantation, 
Calls up the buried past to plead 
for me. 



Speak, my beloved, speak into my 

heart, 
Whatever Alls and agitates thine 

own. 
( They walk aside.) 
Hyp. All gentle quarrels in the 

pastoral poets, 
All passionate love-scenes in the 

best romances, 
All chaste embraces on the public 



All soft adventures, which the 

liberal stars 
Have winked at, as the natural 

course of things, 
Have been surpassed here by my 

friend, the student, 
And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair 

Preciosa ! 
Prec. Senor Hypolito! I kiss 

your hand. 
Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 

Hyp. Not to-night; 

For, should you treat me as you 

did Victorian, 
And send me back to marry maids 

forlorn, 
My wedding day would last from 

now till Christmas. 
Chispa (within). What ho ! the 

Gypsies, ho! Beltran Cru- 

zado! 
Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 
(Enters booted, with a whip and 
lantern.) 
Vict. What now? 

Why such a fearful din? Hast 

thou been robbed? 
Chispa. Ay, robbed and mur- 
dered ; and good evening to 

you, 
My worthy masters. 

Vict. Speak ; what brings thee 

here ? 
Chispa (to Preciosa). Good 

news from Court; good news! 

Beltran Cruzado, 
The Count of the Cales, is not your 

father, 
But your true father has returned 

to Spain 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



65 



Laden with wealth. You are no 

more a Gypsy. 

Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale ! 

Chispa. And we have all 

Been drinking at tbe tavern to 

your health, 
As wells drink in November, when 
it rains. 
Vict. Where is the gentleman ? 
Chispa. As the old song says, 

His body is in Segovia, 
His soul is in Madrid. 

Prec. Is this a dream ? Oh, if it 

be a dream, 
Let me sleep on, and do not wake 

me yet ! 
Eepeat thy story ! Say I 'm not 

deceived ! 
Say that I do not dream ! I am 

awake ; 
This is the Gypsy camp ; this is 

Victorian, 
And this his friend, Hypolito! 

Speak ! speak ! 
Let me not wake and find it all a 

dream ! 
Vict. It is a dream, sweet child ! 

a waking dream, 
A blissful certainty, a vision bright 
Of that rare happiness, which even 

on earth 
Heaven gives to those it loves. 

Now art thou rich, 
4.s thou wast ever beautiful and 

good ; 
And I am now the beggar. 
Prec. (giving him her hand). I 

have still 
A hand to give. 
Chispa (aside). And I have two 

to take. 
I 've heard my grandmother say, 

that Heaven gives almonds 
To those who have no teeth. 

That 's nuts to crack. 
I 've teeth to spare, but where 

shall I find almonds ? 
Vict. What more of this strange 

story ? 
Chispa. Nothing more. 



Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at 
the village 

Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Al- 
calde, 

The proofs of what I tell you. 
The old hag, 

Who stole you in your childhood, 
has confessed ; 

And probably they '11 hang her for 
the crime, 

To make tbe celebration more 
complete. 
Vict. No ; let it be a day of gen- 
eral joy ; 

Fortune comes well to all, that 
comes not late. 

Now let us join Don Carlos. 
Hyp. So farewell, 

The student's wandering life! 
Sweet serenades, 

Sung under ladies' windows in the 
night, 

And all that makes vacation beau- 
tiful ! 

To you, ye cloistered shades of 
Alcala, 

To you, ye radiant visions of ro- 
mance, 

Written in books, but here sur- 
passed by truth, 

The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 

And leaves the Gypsy with the 
Spanish Student. 

Scene VI. — A pass in the Gua- 
darrama mountains. Early 
morning. A mideteer crosses 
the stage, sitting sideways on 
his mule, and lighting a paper 
cigar with flint and steel. 

SONG. 
If thou art sleeping, maiden, 
Awake and open thy door, 
'T is the break of day, and we must 
away 
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

Wait not to find thy slippers, 
But come with thy naked feet ; 

We shall have to pass through the dewy 
grass, 
And waters wide and fleet. 



66 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



{Disappears down the pass. Enter 

a Monk. A Shepherd appears 

on the rocks above.) 

Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. 
Ola ! good, man ! 

Shep. Ola! 

Monk. Is this the road to Sego- 
via? 

Shep. It is, your reverence. 

Monk. How far is it ? 

Shep. I do not know. 

Monk. "What is that yonder in 
the valley ? 

Shep. San Ildefonso. 

Monk. A long way to breakfast. 

Shep. Ay, marry. 

Monk. Are there robbers in 
these mountains ? 

Shep. Yes, and worse than that. 

Monk. What? 

Shep. Wolves. 

Monk. Santa Maria! Come with 
me to San Ildefonso, and thou 
shalt be well rewarded. 

Shep. What wilt thou give me ? 

Monk. An Agnus Dei and my 
benediction. 
( They disappear. A mounted Con- 

trabandista passes, wrapped in 

his cloak, and a gun at .his sad- 
dle-bow. He goes down the pass 

singing.) 

SONG. 

Worn with speed is my good steed, 

And I march me hurried, worried ; 

Onward, caballito mio, 

With the white star in thy forehead ! 

Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 

And 1 hear their rifles crack ! 

Ay, jaleo ! Ay, ay, jaleo ! 

Ay, jaleo ! They cross our track. 

[Song dies away. Enter Pre- 
CiOSA, on horseback, attended 
by Victorian, Hypolito, Don 
Carlos, and Chispa, on foot 
and armed.) 

Vict. This is the highest point. 
Here let us rest. 
See, Preciosa, see how all about 



Kneeling, like hooded friars, the 

misty mountains 
Receive the benediction of the 

sun! 
O glorious sight ! 
Free. Most beautiful indeed ! 
Hyp. Most wonderful ! 
Vict. And in the vale below, 
Where yonder steeples flash like 

lifted halberds, 
San Ildefonso, from its noisy bel- 
fries, 
Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
As if an army smote their brazen 

shields, 
And shouted victory ! 

Prec. And which way lies 

Segovia? 

Vict. At a great distance yonder. 
Dost thou not see it ? 
Prec. No. I do not see it. 

Vict. The merest flaw that dents 

the horizon's edge, 
There, yonder ! 

Hyp. 'T is a notable old town, 
Boasting an ancient Roman aque- 
duct, 
And an Alcazar, builded by the 

Moors, 
Wherein, you may remember, poor 

Gil Bias 
Was fed on Pan del Rey. Oh, 

many a time 
Out of its grated windows have I 

looked 
Hundreds of feet plumb down to 

the Eresma, 
That, like a serpent through the 

valley creeping, 
Glides at its foot. 

Prec. Oh yes ! I see it now, 

Yet rather with my heart than 

with mine eyes, 
So faint it is. And all my thoughts 

sail thither, 
Freighted with prayers and hopes, 

and forward urged 
Against all stress of accident, as 

in 
The Eastern Tale, against the 

wind and tide 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



67 



Great ships were drawn to the 

Magnetic Mountains, 
And there were wrecked, and per- 
ished in the sea ! (She weeps.) 
Vict. O gentle spirit! Thou 

didst hear unmoved 
Blasts of adversity and frosts of 

fate ! 
But the first ray of sunshine that 

falls on thee 
Melts thee to tears! Oh, let thy 

weary heart 
Lean upon mine ! and it shall faint 

no more, 
Nor thirst, nor hunger; hut be 

comforted 
And filled with my affection. 

Prec. Stay no longer ! 

My father waits. Methinks I see 

him there, 
Now looking from the window, 

and now watching 
Each sound of wheels or footfall in 

the street, 
And saying, ' Hark ! she comes ! ' 

O father ! father ! 

(They descend the pass. Chispa 

remains behind.) 

Chispa. I have a father, too, 

but he is a dead one. Alas and 

alack-a-day! Poor was I born, 



and poor do I remain. I neither 
win nor lose. Thus I wag through 
the world, half the time on foot, 
and the other half walking; and 
always as merry as a thunder- 
storm in the night. And so we 
plough along, as the fly said to the 
ox. Who knows what may hap- 
pen? Patience, and shuffle the 
cards ! I am not yet so bald that 
you can see my brains ; and per- 
haps, after all, I shall some day go 
to Rome, and come back Saint 
Peter. Benedicite ! {Exit. 

(A pause. Then enter Bartolom.6 

wildly, as if in pursuit, with a 

carbine in his hand.) 

Bart. They passed this way. I 

hear their horses' hoofs ! 

Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet 

caramillo, 
This serenade shall be the Gypsy's 
last! 

(Fires down the pass.) 
Ha ! ha ! "Well whistled, my sweet 

caramillo ! 
Well whistled ! — I have missed 

her ! — O my God ! 
{The shot is returned. Barto- 
lome falls.) 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER 
POEMS 



CARILLON 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city, 
As the evening shades descend- 
ed, 
Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times, 
And changing like a poet's rhymes, 
Rang the beautiful wild chimes 
From the Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 



Then, with deep sonorous 

clangor 16 

Calmly answering their sweet 

anger, 
When the wrangling bells had 

ended, 
Slowly struck the clock eleven, 
And, from out the silent heaven, 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 
Save that footsteps here and there 



68 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



Of some burgher home returning, 
By the street lamps faintly burn- 
ing, 20 
For a moment woke the echoes 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers, 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 
Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering 

vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gypsy- bands of dreams and 

fancies, 30 

Which amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their solitary dwelling; 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 

And I thought how like these 

chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and dit- 
ties, 
From the belfry of his brain, 40 
Scattered downward, though in 

vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities ! 
For by night the drowsy ear 



Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways, 
Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 
Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 
Lodging at some humble inn 50 
In the narrow lanes of life, 
When the dusk and hush of night 
Shut out the incessant din 
Of daylight and its toil and strife, 
May listen with a calm delight 
To the poet's melodies, 
Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 
Intermingled with the song, 
Thoughts that he has cherished 

long; 
Hears amid the chime and sing- 
ing 60 
The bells of his own village ring- 
ing, 
And wakes, and finds his slumber- 
ous eyes 
Wet with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble\ 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the 

night, 
Bang their changes from the 

Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. 



As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors 

gray, 
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, 
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 69 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high ; 
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, 
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes, 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the 

choir ; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain ; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again ; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old ; 
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of 
Gold; 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies ; 
Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground ; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound ; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, 
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold ; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west, 
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest. 

And 'again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote ; 
And again the wild alarum. sounded from the tocsin's throat; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, 
! I am Roland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land ! ' 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once 
more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes ; and, before I was aware, 
Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 



70 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE 

This is the place. Stand still, my 
steed, 
Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy 
Past 
The forms that once have been. 

The Past and Present here unite 
Beneath Time's flowing tide, 

Like footprints hidden by a brook, 
But seen on either side. 

Here runs the highway to the 
town ; 
There the green lane descends, 
Through which I walked to church 
with thee, 
O gentlest of my friends ! 

The shadow of the linden-trees 
Lay moving on the grass ; 

Between them and the moving 
boughs, 
A shadow, thou didst pass. 

Thy dress was like the lilies, 
And thy heart as pure as they : 

One of God's holy messengers 
Did walk with me that day. 

I saw the branches of the trees 
Bend down thy touch to meet, 

The clover-blossoms in the grass 
Eise up to kiss thy feet. 

'Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting 
cares, 

Of earth and folly born ! ' 
Solemnly sang the village choir 

On that sweet Sabbath morn. 

Through the closed blinds the 
golden sun 

Poured in a dusty beam, 
Like the celestial ladder seen 

By Jacob in his dream. 

And ever and anon, the wind 
Sweet-scented with the hay, 



Turned o'er the hymn-book's flut- 
tering leaves 
That on the window lay. 

Long was the good man's sermon, 
Yet it seemed not so to me ; 

For he spake of Euth the beauti- 
ful, 
And still I thought of thee. 

Long was the prayer he uttered, 
Yet it seemed not so to me ; 

For in my heart I prayed with 
him, 
And still I thought of thee. 

But now, alas ! the place seems 
changed ; 

Thou art no longer here : 
Part of the sunshine of the scene 

With thee did disappear. 

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in 
my heart, 
Like pine-trees dark and high, 
Subdue the light of noon, and 
breathe 
A low and ceaseless sigh ; 

This memory brightens o'er the 
past, 
As when the sun, concealed 
Behind some cloud that near us 
hangs, 
Shines on a distant field. 



THE AESENAL AT SPEING- 
FIELD 

This is the Arsenal. From floor 
to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the bur- 
nished arms ; 
But from their silent pipes no an- 
them pealing 
Startles the villages with strange 
alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how 
wild and dreary, 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 



7i 



When the death-angel touches 


And ever and anon, in tones of 


those swift keys ! 


thunder 


What loud lament and dismal 


The diapason of the cannonade. 


Miserere 




Will mingle with their awful 


Is it, man, with such discordant 


symphonies ! 


! noises, 




With such accursed instruments 


I hear even now the infinite fierce 


as these, 


chorus, 


Thou drownest Nature's sweet and 


The cries of agony, the endless 


kindly voices, 


groan, 


And jarrest the celestial harmo- 


Which, through the ages that have 


nies? 


gone before us, 




In long reverberations reach our 


Were half the power that fills the 


own. 


world with terror, 




Were half the wealth bestowed 


On helm and harness rings the 


on camps and courts, 


Saxon hammer, 


Given to redeem the human mind 


Through Cimbric forest roars 


from error, 


the Norseman's song, 


There were no need of arsenals 


And loud, amid, the universal 


or forts : 


clamor, 




O'er distant deserts sounds the 


The warrior's name would be a 


Tartar gong. 


name abhorred ! 




And every nation, that should 


I hear the Florentine; who from 


lift again 


his palace 


Its hand against a brother, on its 


Wheels out his battle-bell with 


forehead 


dreadful din, 


Would wear forevermore the 


And Aztec priests upon their teo- 


curse of Cain ! 


callis 




Beat the wild war-drums made 


Down the dark future, through 


of serpent's skin ; 


long generations, 




The echoing sounds grow fainter 


The tumult of each sacked and 


and then cease ; 


burning village ; 


And like a bell, with solemn, sweet 


The shout that every prayer for 


vibrations, 


mercy drowns ; 


I hear once more the voice of 


The soldiers' revels in the midst of 


Christ say, ' Peace ! ' 


pillage ; 




The wail of famine in belea- 


Peace ! and no longer from its 


guered towns ; 


brazen portals 




The blast of War's great organ 


The bursting shell, the gateway 


shakes the skies ! 


wrenched asunder, 


But beautiful as songs of the im- 


The rattling musketry, the clash- 


mortals, 


ing blade ; 


The holy melodies of love arise. 



?2 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



NUREMBERG 

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands 
Rise the blue Frauconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them 
throng : 

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, 
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old ; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, 
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. 

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, 
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand ; xo 

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days 
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art : 
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common 
mart ; 

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, 
By a former age commissioned, as apostles to our own. 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, 

And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust ; 

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. 20 

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, 
Lived and labored Albrecht Diirer, the Evangelist of Art ; 

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. 

Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; 
Dead he is not, but departed, — for the artist never dies. 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, 
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air ! 

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal 

lanes, 
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains. 30 

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild, 
Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. 



THE NORMAN BARON 



73 



As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, 
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime ; 

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy 

bloom 
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. 

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, 
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed. 

But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor, 

And a garland in the window, and his face above the door ; 40 

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song, 

As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long. 

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care, 
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master's antique chair. 

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye 
Wave these mingled shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard ; 
But thy painter, Albrecht Durer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler bard. 

Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, 
As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless 
lay: 50 

Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, 
The nobility of labor, — the long pedigree of toil. 



THE NORMAN BARON 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thun- 
dered, 
And the castle-turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer, 
And the lands his sires had plun- 
dered, 
Written in the Doomsday 
Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated, 
Who in humble voice repeated 
Many a prayer and pater-noster, 
From the missal on his knee : 



And, amid the tempest pealing, 
Sounds of bells came faintly steal- 
ing, 
Bells, that from the neighboring 
kloster 
Rang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 
Held, that night, their Christmas 

wassail ; 
Many a carol, old and saintly, 
Sang the minstrels and the 

waits ; 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but 
faintly, 
Knocking at the castle-gates. 



74 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



Till at length the lays they chanted 
Reached the chamber terror- 
haunted, 
Where the monk, with accents holy, 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
As he paused awhile and listened, 
And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

' Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger ! 
King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free ! ' 

And the lightning showed the 

sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering 

baron, 
' Miserere, Domine ! ' 

In that hour of deep contrition 
He beheld, with clearer vision, 
Through all outward show and 
fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 

All the pomp of earth had van- 
ished, 

Falsehood and deceit were ban- 
ished, 

Reason spake more loud than pas- 
sion, 
And the truth wore no dis- 
guise. 

Every vassal of his banner, 
Every serf born to his manor, 
All those wronged and wretched 
creatures, 
By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 
Death relaxed his iron features, 
And the monk replied, ' Amen ! ' 

Many centuries have been num- 
bered 



Since in death the baron slum= 
bered 

By the convent's sculptured por- 
tal, 
Mingling with the common 
dust: 

But the good deed, through the 
ages 

Living in historic pages, 

Brighter grows and gleams im- 
mortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

After the dust and heat, 

In the broad and fiery street, 

In the narrow lane, 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 
Like the tramp of hoofs ! 
How it gushes and struggles out 
From the throat of the overflowing 
spout ! 

Across the window-pane 10 

It pour» ajid pours ; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter 

roars 
The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber 

looks 
At the twisted brooks ; 
He can feel the cool 
Breath of each little pool ; 
His fevered brain 20 

Grows calm again, 
And he breathes a blessing on the 

rain. 

From the neighboring school 
Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 
And commotion ; 



TO A CHILD 



75 



And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 30 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side, 

"Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spot- 
ted hide, 

Stretches the plain, 

To the dry grass and the drier 
grain 

How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen 
stand ; 

Lifting the yoke - encumbered 
head, 40 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well-watered and smok- 
ing soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after 
toil 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word. 

Near at hand, 50 

From under the sheltering trees, 
The farmer sees 
His pastures, and his fields of 

grain, 
As they bend their tops 
To the numberless beating drops 
Of the incessant rain. 
He counts it as no sin 
That he sees therein 
Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these, 60 

The Poet sees ! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air : 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 



Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 70 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly 

told ; - 
Have not been wholly sung nor 

said. 
For his thought, that never stops, 
Follows the water-drops 
Down to the graves of the dead, 
Down through chasms and gulfs 

profound, 
To the dreary fountain-head 
Of lakes and rivers under ground ; 
And sees them, when the rain is 

done, 80 

On the bridge of colors seven 
Climbing up once more to heaven, 
Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perpetual round of strange, 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to 

birth, 
From earth to heaven, from heaven 
. to earth ; 90 

Till glimpses more sublime 
Of things unseen before, 
Unto his wondering eyes reveal 
The Universe, as an immeasurable 

wheel 
Turning forevermore 
In the rapid and rushing river of 

Time. 

TO A CHILD 

Dear child', how radiant on thy 
mother's knee, 

With merry-making eyes and joc- 
und smiles, 

Thou gazest at the painted tiles, 

Whose figures grace, 

With many a grotesque form and 
face, 



76 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



The ancient chimney of thy nur- 
sery ! 
The lady with the gay macaw, 
The dancing girl, the grave bashaw 
With bearded lip and chin ; 
And, leaning idly o'er his gate, 10 
Beneath the imperial fan of state, 
The Chinese mandarin. 

With what a look of proud com- 

mand 
Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver 

bells, 
Making a merry tune ! 
Thousands of years in Indian seas 
That coral grew, by slow degrees, 
Until some deadly and wild mon- 
soon 
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand ! 
Those silver bells 21 

Reposed of yore, 
As shapeless ore, 
Far down in the deep - sunken 

wells 
Of darksome mines, 
In some obscure and sunless place, 
Beneath huge Chimborazo's base, 
Or Potosi's o'erhanging pines ! 
And thus for thee, O little child, 
Through many a danger and es- 
cape, 30 
The tall ships passed the stormy 

cape; 
For thee in foreign lands remote, 
Beneath a burning, tropic clime, 
The Indian peasant, chasing the 

wild goat, 
Himself as swift and wild, 
In falling, clutched the frail ar- 

bute, 
The fibres of whose shallow root, 
Uplifted from the soil, betrayed 
The silver veins beneath it laid, 
The buried treasures of the miser, 
Time. 40 

But, lo ! thy door is left ajar ! 
Thou hearest footsteps from afar ! 
And, at the sound, 
Thou turnest round 



With quick and questioning eye^ 
Like one, who, in a foreign land, 
Beholds on every hand 
Some source of wonder and sui 1 * 

prise l 
And, restlessly, impatiently, 
Thou strivest, strugglest, to be 

free. 50 

The four walls of thy nursery 
Are now like prison walls to 

thee. 
No more thy mother's smiles, 
No more the painted tiles, 
Delight thee, nor the playthings 

on the floor, 
That won thy little, beating heart 

before ; 
Thou strugglest for the open door. 

Through these once solitary halls 
Thy pattering footstep falls, 
The sound of thy merry voice 60 
Makes the old walls 
Jubilant, and they rejoice 
With the joy of thy young heart, 
O'er the light of whose gladness 
No shadows of sadness 
From the sombre background of 
memory start. . 

Once, ah, once, within these walls, 
One whom memory oft recalls, 
The Father of his Country, dwelt. 
And yonder meadows broad and 
damp 70 

The fires of the besieging camp 
Encircled with a burning belt. 
Up and down these echoing stairs, 
Heavy with the weight of cares, 
Sounded his majestic tread; 
Yes, within this very room 
Sat he in those hours of gloom, 
Weary both in heart and head. 

But what are these grave thoughts 

to thee ? 
Out, out ! into the open air ! 8a 
Thy only dream is liberty, 
Thou carest little how or where. 
I see thee eager at thy play, 



TO A CHILD 



77 



Now shouting to the apples on the 

tree, 
With cheeks as round and red as 

they; 
Arid now among the yellow stalks, 
Among the flowering shrubs and 

plants, 
As restless as the hee. 
Along the garden walks, 
The tracks of thy small carriage- 
wheels I trace ; go 
And see at every turn how they 

efface 
Whole villages of sand -roofed 

tents, 
That rise like golden domes 
Above the cavernous and secret 

homes 
Of wandering and nomadic tribes 

of ants. 
Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, 
Who, with thy dreadful reign, 
Dost persecute and overwhelm 
These hapless Troglodytes of thy 

realm ! 

What ! tired already ! with those 
suppliant looks, 100 

And voice more beautiful than a 
poet's books 

Or murmuring sound of water as it 
flows, 

Thou comest back to parley with 
repose ! 

This rustic seat in the old apple- 
tree, 

With its o'erhanging golden can- 
opy 

Of leaves illuminate with autumnal 
hues, 

And shining with the argent light 
of dews, 

Shall for a season be our place of 
rest. 

Beneath us, like an oriole's pend- 
ent nest, 

From which the laughing birds 
have taken wing, no 

By thee abandoned, liangs thy 
vacant swing. 



Dream-like the waters of the river 

gleam ; 
A sailless vessel drops adown the 

sti'eam. 
And like it, to a sea as wide and 

deep, 
Thou driftest gently down the 

tides of sleep. 

child ! new-born denizen 
Of life's great city ! on thy head 
The glory of the morn is shed, 
Like a celestial benison ! 

Here at the portal thou dost 
stand, 120 

And with thy little hand 

Thou openest the mysterious gate 

Into the future's undiscovered 
land. 

1 see its valves expand, 
As at the touch of Fate ! 

Into those realms of love and hate, 
Into that darkness blank and 

drear, 
By some prophetic feeling taught, 
I launch the bold, adventurous 

thought, 
Freighted with hope and fear ; 130 
As upon subterranean streams, 
In caverns unexplored and dark, 
Men sometimes launch a fragile 

bark, 
Laden with flickering fire, 
And watch its swift - receding 

beams, 
Until at length they disappear, 
And in the distant dark expire. 

By what astrology of fear or hope 
Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 
Like the new moon thy life ap- 
pears ; 140 
A little strip of silver light, 
And widening outward into night 
The shadowy disk of future years ; 
And yet upon its outer rim, 
A luminous circle, faint and dim, 
And scarcely visible to us here, 
Rounds and completes the perfect 
sphere ; 



78 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



A prophecy and intimation, 
A pale and feeble adumbration, 
Of the great world of light, that 
lies 150 

Behind all human destinies. 

Ah! if thy fate, with anguish 

fraught, 
Should be to wet the dusty soil 
With the hot tears and sweat of 

toil, — 
To struggle with imperious 

thought, 
Until the overburdened brain, 
Weary with labor, faint with 

pain, 
Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
Only its motion, not its power,— 
Remember, in that perilous hour, 
When most afflicted and op- 
pressed, 161 
From labor there shall come forth 
rest. 

And if a more auspicious fate 
On thy advancing steps await, 
Still let it ever be thy pride 
To linger by the laborer's side ; 
With words of sympathy or 

song 
To cheer the dreary march along 
Of the great army of the poor, 
O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous 

moor. 170 

Nor to thyself the task shall be 
Without reward; for thou shalt 

learn 
The wisdom early to discern 
True beauty in utility ; 
As great Pythagoras of yore, 
Standing beside the blacksmith's 

door. 
And hearing the hammers, as they 

smote 
The anvils with a different note, 
Stole from the varying tones, that 

hung 
Vibrant on every iron tongue, 180 
The secret of the sounding wire, 
And formed the seven-chorded 

lyre. 



Enough ! I will not play the Seer; 
I will no longer strive to ope 
The mystic volume, where appear 
The herald Hope, forerunning 

Fear. 
And Fear, the pursuivant of Hope. 
Thy destiny remains untold ; 
For, like Acestes' shaft of old, 
The swift thought kindles as it 

flies, 190 

And burns to ashes in the skies. 



THE OCCULTATION OF 
ORION 

I saw, as in a dream sublime, 
The balance in the hand of Time. 
O'er East and West its beam im- 
pended ; 
And Day, with all its hours of 

light 
Was slowly sinking out of sight, 
While, opposite, the scale of Night 
Silently with the stars ascended. 

Like the astrologers of eld, 
In that bright vision I beheld 
Greater and deeper mysteries. 10 
I saw, with its celestial keys, 
Its chords of air, its frets of fire, 
The Samian's great iEolian lyre, 
Rising through all its sevenfold 

bars, 
From earth unto the fixed stars. 
And through the dewy atmosphere, 
Not only could I see, but hear, 
Its wondrous and harmonious 

strings, 
In sweet vibration, sphere by 

sphere, 
From Dian's circle light and 

near, 20 

Onward to vaster and wider rings, 
Where, chanting through his beard 

of snows, 
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes, 
And down the sunless realms of 

space 
Reverberates the thunder of hi? 

bass. 



THE BRIDGE 



79 



Beneath the sky's triumphal arch 
This music sounded like a march, 
And with its chorus seemed to be 
Preluding some great tragedy. 
Sirius was rising in the east ; 30 
And, slow ascending one by one, 
The kindling constellations shone. 
Begirt with many a blazing star, 
Stood the great giant Algebar, 
Orion, hunter of the beast ! 
His sword hung gleaming by his 

side, 
And, on his arm, the lion's hide 
Scattered across the midnight air 
The golden radiance of its hair. 

The moon was pallid, but not 
faint ; 40 

And beautiful as some fair saint, 
Serenely moving on her way 
In hours of trial and dismay. 
As if she heard the voice of God, 
Unharmed with naked feet she trod 
Upon the hot and burning stars, 
As on the glowing coals and bars, 
That were to prove her strength 

and try 
Her holiness and her purity. 

Thus moving on, with silent pace, 
And triumph in her sweet, pale 
face, 51 

She reached the station of Orion. 
Aghast he stood in strange alarm ! 
And suddenly from his out- 
stretched arm 
Down fell the red skin of the lion 
Into tlie river at his feet. 
His mighty club no longer beat 
The forehead of the bull ; but he 
Reeled as of yore beside the sea, 
When, blinded by OEnopion, 60 
He sought the blacksmith at his 

forge, 
And, climbing up the mountain 

gorge, 
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. 

Then, through the silence over- 

head, 
A.n angel with a trumpet said, 



' Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! ' 
And, like an instrument that 

flings 
Its music on another's strings, 
The trumpet of the angel cast 70 
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, 
And on from sphere to sphere the 

words 
Reechoed down the burning 

chords, — 
' Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! ' 



THE BRIDGE 

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the 
hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 
In the waters under me, 

Like a golden goblet falling 
And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 
Of that lovely night in June, 

The blaze of the flaming furnace 
Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 
The wavering shadows lay, 
And the current that came from 
the ocean 
Seemed to lift and bear them 
away; 

As, sweeping and eddying through 
them, 
Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moon- 
light, 
The seaweed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 

A flood of thoughts came o'er me 
That filled my eyes with tears 



8o 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



How often, oh how often, 
. In the clays that had gone hy, 
I had stood on that bridge at mid- 
night 
And gazed on that wave and 
sky! 

How often, oh how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing 
tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and rest- 
less, 
And my life was full of care, 
And the burden laid upon me 
• Seemed greater than I could 
bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 



Like the odor of brine from the 
ocean 
Comes the thought of other 
years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sor- 
row, 
Have crossed the bridge since 
then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old subdued aud slow ! 

And forever and forever, 
As long as the river flows, 

As long as the heart has passions, 
As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflec- 
tion 

And its shadows shall appear, 
As the symbol of love in heaven, 

And its wavering image here. 



TO THE DKIVING CLOUD 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas ; 
Gloomy and dark as t&e driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken! 
Wrapped in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's 
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers 
Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints. 
What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints? 

How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the 
prairies? 

How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the sweet air of 
the mountains ? 

Ah ! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge 

Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and these pave- 
ments, IO 

Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while down-trodden millions 

Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, 
too, 

Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its division ! 

Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west of the Wabash ! 
There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple 



SONGS 



Si 



Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and in summer 
Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath of their 

branches. 
There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of horses ! 
There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the Elkhorn, 
Or by the roar of the Punning- Water, or where the Omaha 20 

Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave of the Black- 
feet I 

Hark! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous 

deserts ? 
Is it the*cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, 
Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder, 
And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man ? 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and the Foxes, 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of Behemoth, 
Lo ! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily breasts the Missouri's 
. Merciless current ! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the camp-fires 
Gleam through the night ; and the cloud of dust in the gray of the day- 
break 30 
Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dexterous horse-race ; 
It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the Camanches ! 
Ha ! ho^ the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the blast of the 

east-wind, 
Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wigwams ! 



SONGS 

THE DAY IS DONE 

The day is done, and the dark- 
ness 

Falls from the wings of Night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 

From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 
Gleam through the rain and the 
mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er 
me 
That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 
That is not akin to pain, 

And resembles sorrow only 
As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 



That shall soothe this restless feel- 
ing, 
And banish the thoughts of 
day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 
Whose songs gushed from his 
heart, 
As showers from the clouds of 
summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labor, 
And nights devoid of ease, 



82 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



Still heard in his soul the music 


Shadows are trailing, 


Of wonderful melodies. 


My heart is bewailing 




And tolling within 


Such songs have power to quiet 


Like a funeral bell. 


The restless pulse of care, 




And come like the benediction 




That follows after prayer. 


TO AN OLD DANISH SONG 




BOOK 


Then read from the treasured vol- 




ume 


Welcome, my old friend, 


The poem of thy choice, 


Welcome to a foreign fireside, 


And lend to the rhyme of the 


While the sullen gales of autumn 


poet 


Shake the windows. 


The beauty of thy voice. 






The ungrateful world 


And the night shall be filled with 


Has, it seems, dealt harshly with 


music, 


thee, 


And the. cares, that infest the 


Since, beneath the skies of Den- 


day, 


mark, 


Shall fold their tents, like the 


First I met thee. 


Arabs, 




And as silently steal away. 


There are marks of age, 




There are thumb-marks on thy 




margin, 10 


AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY 


Made by hands that clasped thee 




rudely, 


The day is ending, 


At the alehouse. 


The night is descending; 




The marsh is frozen, 


Soiled and dull thou art ; 


The river dead. 


Yellow are thy time-worn pages, 




As the russet, rain-molested 


Through clouds like ashes 


Leaves of autumn. 


The red sun flashes 




On village windows 


Thou art stained with wine 


! That glimmer red. 


Scattered from hilarious goblets, 




As the leaves with the libations 


The snow recommences ; 


Of Olympus. 20 


The buried fences 




f Mark no longer 


Yet dost thou recall 


The road o'er the plain ; 


Days departed, half-forgotten, 




When in dreamy youth I wandered 


While through the meadows, 


By the Baltic, — 


Like fearful shadows, 




Slowly passes 


When I paused to hear 


A funeral train. 


The old ballad of King Christian 




Shouted from suburban taverns 


j The bell is pealing, 


In the twilight. 


And every feeling 




Within me responds 


Thou recallest bards, 


To the dismal knell ; 


Who, in solitary chambers, 30 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 



33 



And with hearts by passion wasted, 


WALTEE VON DEE VOGEL- 


Wrote thy pages. 


WEID 


Thou recallest homes 


Vogelweid the Minnesinger, 


Where thy songs of love and friend- 


When he left this world of ours, 


ship 


Laid his body in the cloister, 


Made the gloomy Northern win- 


Under Wiirtzburg's minster tow- 


ter 


ers. 


Bright as summer. 






And he gave the monks his trea- 


Once some ancient Scald, 


sures, 


In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, 


Gave them all with this behest : 


Chanted staves of these old bal- 


They should feed the birds at noon- 


lads 


tide 


To the Vikings. 40 


Daily on his place of rest ; 


Once in Elsinore, 


Saying, 'From these wandering 


At the court of old King Ham- 


minstrels 


let, 


I have learned the art of song ; 


Yorick and his boon companions 


Let me now repay the lessons 


Sang these ditties. 


They have taught so well and 




long.' 


Once Prince Frederick's Guard 




Sang them in their smoky bar- 


Thus the bard of love departed ; 


racks ; — 


And, fulfilling his desire, 


Suddenly the English cannon 


On his tomb the birds were feasted 


Joined the chorus ! 


By the children of the choir. 


Peasants in the field, 


Day by day, o'er tower and turret, 


Sailors on the roaring ocean, 50 


In foul weather and in fair, 


Students, tradesmen, pale mechan- 


Day by day, in vaster numbers, 


ics, 


Flocked the poets of the air. 


All have sung them. 






On the tree whose heavy branches 


Thou hast been their friend; 


Overshadowed all the place, 


They, alas! have left thee friend- 


On the pavement, on the tomb- 


less! 


stone, 


Yet at least by one warm fireside 


On the poet's sculptured face, 


Art thou welcome. 






On the cross-bars of each window, 


And, as swallows build 


On the lintel of each door, 


In these wide, old-fashioned chim- 


They renewed the War of Wart- 


neys, 


burg, 


So thy twittering song shall nestle 


Which the bard had fought be- 


In my bosom, — 60 


fore. 


Quiet, close, and warm, 


There they sang their merry carols, 


Sheltered from all molestation, 


Sang their lauds on every side ; 


And recalling by their voices 


And the name their voices uttered 


Youth and travel. 


Was the name of Vogelweid. 



84 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



Till at length the portly abbot 
Murmured, ' Why this waste of 
food ? 
Be It changed to loaves hencefor- 
ward 
For our fasting brotherhood.' 

Then in vain o'er tower and tur- 
ret, 
From the walls and woodland 

When the minster bells rang noon- 
tide, 
Gathered the unwelcome guests. 

Then in vain, with cries discord- 
ant, 
Clamorous round the Gothic 
spire, 
Screamed the feathered Minne- 
singers 
For the children of the choir. 

Time has long effaced the inscrip- 
tions 

On the cloister's funeral stones, 
And tradition only tells us 

Where repose the poet's bones, 

But around the vast cathedral, 
By sweet echoes multiplied, 

Still the birds repeat the legend, 
And the name of Vogelweid. 



DRINKING SONG 

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE 
PITCHER 



Fauns with youthful Bacchus fol- 
low; 

Ivy crowns that brow supernal 
As the forehead of Apollo, 

And possessing youth eternal. 

Bound about him, fair Bacchantes, 

Bearing cymbals, flutes, and 

thyrses, 

Wild from Naxian groves, or 

Zante's 

Vineyards, sing delirious verses. 

Thus he won, through all the na- 
tions, 
Bloodless victories, and the 
farmer 
Bore, as trophies and oblations, 
Vines for banners, ploughs for 
armor. 

Judged by no o'erzealous rigor, 
Much this mystic throng ex- 
presses : 

Bacchus was the type of vigor, 
And Silenus of excesses. 

These are ancient ethnic revels, 
Of a faith long since forsaken; 

Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, 
Frighten mortals wine-o'ertaken. 

Now to rivulets from the moun- 
tains 
Point the rods of fortune-tellers ; 
Youth perpetual dwells in foun- 
tains,— 
Not in flasks, and casks, and 
cellars. 



Come, old friend! sit down and 
listen ! 
From the pitcher, placed be- 
tween us, 
How the waters laugh and glisten 
In the head of old Silenus ! 

Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, 
Led by his inebriate Satyrs ; 

On his breast his head is sunken, 
Vacantly he leers and chatters. 



Claudius, though he sang of flagons 
And huge tankards filled with 
Rhenish, 
From that fiery blood of dragons 
Never would his own replen- 
ish. 

Even Redi, though he chaunted 
Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, 

Never drank the wine he vaunted 
In his dithyrambic sallies. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 



§5 



Then with water fill the pitcher 


Through days of sorrow and of 


"Wreathed ahout with classic 


mirth, 


fables ; 


Through days of death and days of 


Ne'er Falernian threw a richer 


birth, 


Light upon Lucullus' tables. 


Through every swift vicissitude 




Of changeful time, unchanged it 


Come, old friend, sit down and 


has stood, 


listen ! 


And as if, like God, it all things 


As it passes thus between us, 


saw, 30 


How its wavelets laugh and glis- 


It calmly repeats those words of 


ten 


awe,— 


In the head of old Silenus ! 


' Forever — never ! 




Never — forever ! ' 


THE OLD CLOCK ON THE 


In that mansion used to be 


STAIRS 


Free-hearted Hospitality ; 




His great fires up the chimney 


Somewhat back from the village 


roared ; 


street 


The stranger feasted at his board ; 


Stands the old-fashioned country- 


But, like the skeleton at the feast, 


seat. 


That warning timepiece never 


Across its antique portico 


ceased,— 


Tall poplar -trees their shadows 


' Forever — never ! 40 


throw ; 


Never — forever !' 


And from its station in the hall 




An ancient timepiece says to all, — 


There groups of merry children 


' Forever — never ! 


played, 


Never — forever!' 


There youths and maidens dream- 


• 


ing strayed ; 


Half-way up the stairs it stands, 


precious hours ! golden prime, 


And points and beckons with its 


And affluence of love and time ! 


hands 10 


Even as a miser counts his gold, 


From its case of massive oak, 


Those hours the ancient timepiece 


Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 


told,— 


Crosses himself, and sighs, alas*! 


'Forever — never ! 


With sorrowful voice to all who 


Never — forever ! ' 


pass, — 


-— -____^__ 


'Forever — never ! 


From that chamber7~clothed in 


Never — forever ! ' 


white, 50 




The bride came forth on her wed- 


By day its voice is low and light ; 


ding night ; 


But in the silent dead of night, 


There, in that silent room below, 


Distinct as a passing footstep's 


The dead lay in his shroud of 


fall, 


snow ; 


It echoes along the vacant hall, 20 


And in the hush that followed the 


Along the ceiling, along the floor, 


prayer, 


And seems to say, at each chamber- 


Was heard the old clock on the 


door, — 


stair, — 


' Forever — never ! 


' Forever — never ! 


Never — forever ! ' 


Never — forever ! ' 



86 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of 
pain, 60 

4 Ah! when shall they all meet 

again ? ' 
As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes re- 
ply,— 
1 Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' 

Never here, forever there, 
"Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time shall disap- 
pear, — 
Forever there, hut never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 70 

Sayeth this incessantly, — 
' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' 

THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and 

strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to 

end, 
I found again in the heart of a 

friend. 



SONNETS 

MEZZO CAMMIN 

Half of my life is gone, and I 
have let 
The years slip from me and have 
not fulfilled 



The aspiration of my youth, to 
build 

Some tower of song with lofty 
parapet. 
Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor 
the fret 

Of restless passions that would 
not be stilled, 

But sorrow, and a care that 
almost killed, 

Kept me from what I may ac- 
complish yet ; 

Though, half-way up the hill, I see 
the Past 

Lying beneath me with its 
sounds and sights, — 

A city in the twilight dim and 
vast, 
With smoking roofs, soft bells, 
and gleaming lights,— 

And hear above me on the au- 
tumnal blast 

The cataract of Death far thun- 
dering from the heights. 



THE EVENING STAR 

Lo! in the painted oriel of the 

West, 
Whose panes the sunken sun 

incarnadines, 
Like a fair lady at her casement, 

shines 
The evening star, the star of love 

and rest ! 
And then anon she doth herself 

divest 
Of all her radiant garments, and 

reclines 
Behind the sombre screen of 

yonder pines, 
With slumber and soft dreams 

of love oppressed. 
O my beloved, my sweet Hes- 
perus ! 
My morning and my evening star 

of love ! 
My best and gentlest lady ! even 

thus, 



CURFEW 



87 



A.s that fair planet in the sky 


Yet in thy heart what human 


above, 


sympathies, 


Dost thou retire unto thy rest at 


What soft compassion glows, as 


night, 


in the skies 


And from thy darkened window 


The tender stars their clouded 


fades the light. 


lamps relume ! 




Methinks I see thee stand with 




pallid cheeks 


AUTUMN 


By Fra Hilario in his diocese, 




As up the convent - walls, in 


Thou comest, Autumn, heralded 


golden streaks, 


by the rain, 


The ascending sunbeams mark the 


With banners, by great gales in- 


day's decrease ; 


cessant fanned, 


And, as he asks what there the 


Brighter than brightest silks of 


stranger seeks, 


Samarcand, 


Thy voice along the cloister 


And stately oxen harnessed to 


whispers ' Peace ! ' 


thy wain ! 




Thou standest, like imperial Charle- 




. magne, 


CUEFEW 


Upon thy bridge of gold; thy 




royal hand 


1 


Outstretched with benedictions 


Solemnly, mournfully, 


o'er the land, 


Dealing its dole, 


Blessing the farms through all 


The Curfew Bell 


thy vast domain ! 


Is beginning to toll. 


Thy shield is the red harvest moon, 




suspended 


Cover the embers, 


So long beneath the heaven's 


And put out the light ; 


o : erhanging eaves ; 


Toil comes with the morning, 


Thy steps are by the farmer's 


And rest with the night. 


prayers attended ; 




Like flames upon an altar shine 


Dark grow the windows, 


the sheaves ; 


And quenched is the fire ; 


And, following thee, in thy ova- 


Sound fades into silence, — 


tion splendid, 


All footsteps retire. 


Thine almoner, the wind, scat- 




ters the golden leaves ! 


No voice in the chambers, 




No sound in the hall ! 




Sleep and oblivion 


DANTE 


Reign over all ! 


Tuscan, that wanderest through 


11 


the realms of gloom, 


The book is completed, 


With thoughtful pace, and sad, 


And closed, like the day ; 


majestic eyes, 


And the hand that has written it 


Stern thoughts and awful from 


Lays it away. 


thy soul arise, 




Like Farinata from his fiery 


Dim grow its fancies ; 


tomb. 


Forgotten they lie ; 


Thy sacred song is like the trump 


Like coals in the ashes, 


of doom ; 


They darken and die. 



88 EVANGELINE 



Song sinks into silence, 


Darker and darker 


The story is told, 


The black shadows fall ; 


The windows are darkened, 


Sleep and oblivion 


The hearth-stone is cold. 


Eeign over all. 



EVANGELINE 

A TALE OF ACADIE 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks. 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the 

huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 10 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 

PAET THE FIRST 

I 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 2c 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre" 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastwards 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the north- 
ward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 3a 



EVANGELINE 89 



Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of tbe Henries, 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded the'$loorway. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 40 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors 
Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the 

maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. 
Keverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. 
-Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun 

sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 50 

Eose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. 
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,— 
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from 
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; 
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; 
_There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre\ 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, 60 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak- 
leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the way- 
side, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her 

tresses! f 

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden. 70 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her 
missal. 



9 o 



EVANGELINE 



Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, 

Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, 

Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. 

But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, 

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. 80 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. 
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, 
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss- 
grown 90 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the 

farm-yard. 
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the 

harrows ; 
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase, 
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. 
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates 100 
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pr§ 
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. 
Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal, 
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion ; 
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! 
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, 
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, 
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; no 
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, 
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered 
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. 
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; 
Gabriel Lajeunesse. the son of Basil the blacksmith, 
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; 
For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, 
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. 
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood 
Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician, 12* 



EVANGELINE 91 



Priest and pedagogue both iu the village, had taught them their letters 
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain- 
song. 
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, 
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. 
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, 
Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel 
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. 
Oft on autumnal eves, Avhen without in the gathering darkness 
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and 
crevice, 130 

Warm by the forge v within they watched the laboring bellows, 
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, 
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, 
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 140 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. 
' Sunshine of Saint Eulalie ' was she called ; for that was the sunshine 
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; 
She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, 
Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of children. 



Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, 
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. 
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, 150 
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 
Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September 
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. 
All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 
Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted 
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. 
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season. 
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! 
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the land- 
scape 160 
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 
Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean 
Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. 
Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, 
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 



92 EVANGELINE 



All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun 
Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; 
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, 
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest 
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and 
jewels. i 7 o 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the home- 
stead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her 

collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the sea- 
side, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch- 
dog, 180 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence the wolves 

howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with clew on their manes and their fet- 
locks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, 190 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders 
Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. 
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doous, 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair and watched how the flames and the smoke- 
wreaths 200 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. 
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair 
Laughed in the flickering light ; and the pewter plates on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. 



EVANGELINE 



93 



Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, 
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him 
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. 
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, 210 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. 
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, 
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, 
Followed the old man's song and united the fragments together. 
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, 
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. 221 
'Welcome!' the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the 

threshold, 
* Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams 
Bound and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes.' 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside : — 230 

4 Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! 
Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.' 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — 
4 Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time 241 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people.' 
Then made answer the farmer : 4 Perhaps some friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England 
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle ana chil- 
dren.' 
4 Not so thinketh'the folk in the village,' said, warmly, the blacksmith 
Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued: — 
4 Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, 250 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; 
'Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the 
mower.' 



94 EVANGELINE 



Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — 
' Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, 
Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village 26a 
Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round 

about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. 
Ren6 Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children? ' 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, 
And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. 



Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; 
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung 270 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn 

bows 
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 
Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred 
Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, 
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. 
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, 
Eipe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 280 

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, 
And of the white L6tiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, 
* Father Leblanc,' he exclaimed, ' thou hast heard the talk in the vil- 
lage, 2QO 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their 

errand.' 
Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — 
'Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; 
And what their errand may be I know not better than others. 
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ? ' 
'God's name ! ' shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; 
'Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the where. 
iovo. ? 



EVANGELINE 95 



Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! ' 

But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public,— 300 

1 Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 

Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, 

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal.' 

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it 

When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. 

' Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 310 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the 

mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 320 

Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven.' 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 330 

Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand- 

Pre; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 34a 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 



06 EVANGELINE 



Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king- 
row. 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, 
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise 
Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the meadows. 350 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry 
Eang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway 
Bose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household- 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. 
; Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth- 
stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 560 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. 
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. 
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes- 
press 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in mar- 
riage, 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight 
Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of 
the maiden 370 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, 
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her 

shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness 
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. 
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, 380 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmaei wandered with Hagar ! 



Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. 
Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, 
Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. 
Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor 
Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. 
Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. 



EVANGELINE 97 



Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk 
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, 390 
Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, 
Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. 
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. 
Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups at the house- 
doors 
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together. 
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted ; 
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, 
All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. 
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: 
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 400 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness 
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 
Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated ; 
There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. 
Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waist- 
coats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white 
Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler 410 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. 
Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 
Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunquerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows ; 
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. 
Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter ! 
Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous 420 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. 
Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the church- 
yard, 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head- 
stones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. 431 
'You are convened this day,' he said, ' by his Majesty's orders. 
Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kindness, 



95 EVANGELINE 



Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 440 

Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure ! ' 
As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summer, 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house- 
roofs, 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures ; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. 450 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations 
Bang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others 
Bose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he 

shouted, — 
'Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them 

allegiance ! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our har- 
vests ! ' 
More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier 
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, 469 

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. 
Baising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence 
All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. 
'What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? 470 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you ! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, " O Father, forgive them ! " 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, " O Father, forgive them ! " '. 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people 479 



EVANGELINE 99 



Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, ' O Father, forgive tbem ! ' 

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. 

Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people re- 
sponded, 

Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria 

Sang thev, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion trans- 
lated, 

Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 

""! Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides 
"Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, 4go 
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each 
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. 
Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; 
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild- 
flowers ; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the 

dairy, 
And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset 
Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. 

"Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 
And from the fields of her scul a fragrance celestial ascended, — 500 
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 
Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, 
Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women, 
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, 
Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. 
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors 
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. 
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows 510 
Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, 
1 Gabriel ! ' cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper un- 

tasted, 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of 

terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echoing thunder 520 
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! 



ioo EVANGELINE 



Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven ; 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till 
morning. 

v 

Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day 
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. 
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, 
Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, 
Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, 
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, 
Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the wood, 
land. 530 

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea- 
beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, 
Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church- 

doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. 541 

Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended 
Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daugh- 
ters. 
Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices, 
Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : — 
' Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible fountain! 
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience !' 
Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the 
wayside 550 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them 
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,— 
Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whis- 
pered,— 
' Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen ! ' 560 
Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father 



EVANGELINE 



Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his 

footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh she clasped his neck and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 
Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their 
children 570 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. 
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. 
Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight 
Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 580 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; 
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm- 
yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milk-maid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded, 
Kose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the win- 
dows. 590 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man. 599 

Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake 

not, 
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. 
% B#nedicite ! ' murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. 



EVANGELINE 



More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents 
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. 
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, 
Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them 610 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. 
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon 
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon the mountain and meadow, 
Seizing the rocks and the rivers and piling huge shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, 
Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of 
a martyr. 620 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, up- 
lifting, 
"Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on ship- 
board. 
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, 
1 We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre ! ' 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, 
Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing of cattle 
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. 
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments 
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, 63 1 

"When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirl- 
wind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. 
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses 
Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the 
meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, 
Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 640 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. 
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. 
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; 
And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. 
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, 
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. 
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, 



EVANGELINE 103 



Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around ber, 
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. 650 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people,— 
' Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season 
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, 
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard.' 
Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side, 
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, 
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand- Pre. 
And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, 
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 660 
'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; 
And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, 
Leaving behind tbem the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 



PART THE SECOND 



Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre\ 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, 

Exile without an end, and without an example in story. 

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; 670 

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the 

northeast 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfound- 
land. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of 

Waters 
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken. 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, 681 
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. 
Fair was she and young : but, alas ! before her extended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway 
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before 

her, 
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, 
As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by 
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. 
Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished; 
A.s if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 690 



ro4 EVANGELINE 



Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, 

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, 

She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tomb- 

stones, 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, 
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. ■ 700 

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known 

him, 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. 
1 Gabriel Lajeunesse ! ' they said ; ' Oh yes ! we have seen him. 
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies; 
Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers.' 
1 Gabriel Lajeunesse ! ' said others ; ' Oh yes! we have seen him. 
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana.' 

Then would they say, ' Dear child ! why dream and wait for him longer? 
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others 
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? 710 

Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee 
Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy ! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses.' 
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, ' I cannot! 
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. 
For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the path- 
way, 
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness.' 
Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, 
Said, with a smile, ' O daughter ! thy,. God thus speaketh within thee ! 
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; 720 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning 
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; 
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. 
Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection ! 
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 
Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, 
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of hea- 
ven ! ' 
Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. 
Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, 
But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, ' Despair 
not! ' 73a 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, 
Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. 
Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; — 
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence, 
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley : 
Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water 



EVANGELINE 105 



Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. 740 

n 
It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful Kiver, 
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, 
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, 
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. 
It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked 
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, 
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; 
Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, 
Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers 
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 750 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. 
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, 
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. 
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike 
Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, 
Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars 
Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, 
Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. 
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 760 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, 
Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. 
They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, 
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, 
Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. 
They, too, swerved from their course ; and entering the Bayou of 

Plaquemine, 
Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, 
Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. 
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress 
Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air 770 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. 
Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons 
Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, 
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. 
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, 
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, 
Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. 
Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; 
And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — 
Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. 78c 
As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, 
Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, 
So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, 
Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it 



io6 EVANGELINE 



But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly 
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight 
It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. 
Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, 
And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure 791 

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ; 
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; 
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through the mid- 
night, 800 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, 
While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the 

desert, 
Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the forest, 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades ; and before 
them 
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. 
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations 
Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus 
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. 810 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, 
And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands, 
Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses,' 
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. 
Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. 
Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, 
Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, 
Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. 
Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. 
Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine 
Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, 821 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, 
Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. 
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. 
Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven 
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. 

Nearer, and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. 



EVANGELINE 107 



Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. 830 
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. 
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, 
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. 
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, 
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, 
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows ; 
All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers. 
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. 840 
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. 
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, 
As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden 
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, ' O Father Felician ! 
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? 
■Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?' 
Then, with a blush, she added, ' Alas for my credulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning.' 849 

But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — 
' Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to me without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, 
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees ; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 860 

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana ! ' 

With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. 
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; 
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, 
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 870 

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. 
Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, 
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, 
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad : then soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; 



io8 EVANGELINE 



Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 880 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, 
Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Ope- 

lousas, 
And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, 
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling ; — 
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. 

in 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose 

branches 
Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, 
Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, 89c 
Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden 
Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, 
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers 
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. 
Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported, 
Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, 
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. 
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, 
Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, 
Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. 900 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine 
Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow, 
And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding 
Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. 
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway 
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, 
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. 
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas 
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, 
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. 910 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded 92a 

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. 



EVANGELINE 109 



Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the 

garden 
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward 
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. 930 
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. 
There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer 
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and misgiv- 
ings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, ' If you came by the Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?' 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, 940 
•' Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? ' and, concealing her face on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said it, — 
' Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence, 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, 950 

Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against 

him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning 
"We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison.' 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, 
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. 960 

Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, 
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. 
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. 
' Long live Michael,' they cried, ' our brave Acadian minstrel ! ' 
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway 
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man 
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, 
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, 
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. 
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith. 
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; 971 

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, 



no EVANGELINE 



And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take 

them; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and crossing the breezy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil 
Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors, gS» 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamp- 
light. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : — 
' Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and 

homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old 

one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. 
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the 
water. 990 

All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; 
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your 

cattle.' 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, 
While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, 1000 
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : — 
' Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell ! ' 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. 
It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, 
Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. ioi« 
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors : 
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were a* 

strangers, 
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, 
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. 
But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding 



EVANGELINE in 



From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, 

Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, 

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening 

Whirl of the giddy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, 

Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 1020 

" Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herds- 
man 
Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; 
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music 
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness 
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. 
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, 
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river 
Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the 

moonlight, 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 1030 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confes- 
sions 
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night- 
dews, 
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, 
As, through the garden-gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, 
Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. 
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 
Gleamed and floated away in mingled and infinite numbers. 1040 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, 
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship, 
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, ' Upharsin.' 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, 
Wandered alone, and she cried, ' O Gabriel ! O my beloved ! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee ? 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ? 
Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! 1049 

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! 
Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, 
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers ! 
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ? ' 
Loud and sudden and near the notes of a whippoorwill sounded 
Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. 
"Patience ! ' whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness : 
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, ' To-morrow ! ' 

Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 1060 



EVANGELINE 



With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. 
' Farewell ! ' said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; 
v See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was 

coming.' 
' Farewell ! ' answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and glad- 
ness, 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 1070 

Found they the trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous land- 
lord, 
That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. 

IV 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains 
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gate- 
way, 1080 
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, 
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; 
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. 
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies ; 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, 1090 
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. 
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; 
Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of IshmaePs children, 
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails 
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered .in battle, 
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage maraud- 
ers; 1 100 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, 
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, 
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, 
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 



EVANGELINE 113 



Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire 
Eise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, mi 
"When they had reached the place they found only embers and ashes. 
And, though .their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were 

weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before 

them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered 
Into their little camp an Indian woman, whose features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, 1 120 

Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest 

welcome 
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire- 
light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their 

blankets, 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, 1130 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. 
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. 
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 
She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended 
Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious horror 
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the 

Mowis ; 
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, 1140 
But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, 
Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. 
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, 
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 
That through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twi- 
light, 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, 
Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, 



ii4 EVANGELINE 



And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people. 

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 1150 

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her 

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress 

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, 

Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor 

Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 

"With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches 

Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. 

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, 

Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 

As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. 1160 

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits 

Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a moment 

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. 

With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, ' On the western slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Eobe chief of the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus. 
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him.' 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, 1 170 
• Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us ! ' 
Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 1180 
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, 
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. 
But when the service was dqne, and the benediction had fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the 

sower, 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them 
Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, 
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the foi'est, 
And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. 1 190 
There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize- 
ear 
Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. 
Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answered : • 
' Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 
On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 
Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey ! ' 



EVANGELINE 115 



Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kind- 
ness; 
But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes 
Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. 1199 

' Far to the north he has gone,' continued the priest; ' but in autumn, 
When the' chase is done, will return again to the Mission.' 
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, 
1 Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted.' 
So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on the morrow, 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — 
Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above 

her, 
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 12 10 
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. 
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 
4 Patience ! ' the priest would say ; ' have faith, and thy prayer will be 

answered ! 
Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, 
See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet ; 
This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted 
Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey 1220 

Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepen- 
the.' 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,— yet Gabriel came 
not; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird 
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. 
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted 1230 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River. 
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, 
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. . 
When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, 
She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, 
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden ; — 1240 



Ii6 EVANGELINE 



Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, 
Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, 
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey ; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. 
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her fore- 

head, 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, 1250 

As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. 



In that delightful land which fs washed by the Delaware waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, 
And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the forest, 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. 
There old Ren6 Leblanc had died ; and when he departed, 1260 

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, 
Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stran- 
ger; 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, 
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. 
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, 
Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, 
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her foot- 
steps. 
As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 1270 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, 
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, 
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway 
Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, 
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, 
Only more beautiful made by his death-like silence and absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. 
Over him years had no power : he was not changed, but transfigured ; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ; 1281 
Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 



EVANGELINE 



117 



Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. 

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting 

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, 

Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, 1290 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. 

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman 

repeated 
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. 

* 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an 
acorn. 1300 

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor ; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, 
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and wood- 
lands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket 13 10 
Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seemed to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord : ' The poor ye always have with you.' 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
Unto their eyes it seemed the Jamps of the city celestial, 
Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and 
silent, 1320 

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 

Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ; 

And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, 

That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. 

Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east- 
wind, 

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ 
Church, 

While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted 

Bounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church a^ 
Wicaco. 



EVANGELINE 



Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit : 
Something within her said, ' At length thy trials are ended : ' 1330 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence 
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, 
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. 1340 

Many familiar forms ha* disappeared in the night time ; 
Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, 
Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder 
Kan through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her 

fingers, 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples ; 1350 
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; 
So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinked its portals, 
That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. ' 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 1360 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, 
' Gabriel ! O my beloved ! ' and died away into silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their 

shadow, 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to Avhisper her name, for the accents unuttered 1370 
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have 

spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement 



DEDICATION 



119 



All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, 1379 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, ' Father, I thank thee ! ' 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their la- 
bors, 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 1391 

Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 
"Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



DEDICATION 

As one who, walking in the twi- 
light gloom, 
Hears round about him voices 
as it darkens, 
And seeing not the forms from 
which they come, 
Pauses from time to time, and 
turns and hearkens ; 

So walking here in twilight, O my 
friends ! 
I hear your voices, softened by 
the distance, 



And pause, and turn to listen, as 
each sends 
His words of friendship, comfort, 
and assistance. 

If any thought of mine, or sung or 
told, 
Has ever given delight or conso- 
lation, 
Ye have repaid me back a thou- 
sand-fold, 
By every friendly sign and salu- 
tation. 

Thanks for the sympathies that 
ye have shown ! 



120 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Thanks for each kindly word, 


Therefore I hope to join your sea- 


each silent token, 


side walk, 


That teaches me, when seeming 


Saddened, and mostly silent, 


most alone, 


with emotion ; 


Friends are around us, though 


Not interrupting with intrusive 


no word be spoken. 


talk 




The grand, majestic sympho- 


Kind messages, that pass from 


nies of ocean. 


land to land ; 




Kind letters, that betray the 


Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome 


heart's deep history, 


guest, 


In which we feel the pressure of a 


At your warm fireside, when the 


hand, — 


lamps are lighted, 


One touch of fire, — and all the 


To have my place reserved among 


rest is mystery ! 


the rest, 




Nor stand as one unsought and 


The pleasant books, that silently 


uninvited ! 


among 




Our household treasures take 




familiar places, 


BY THE SEASIDE 


And are to us as if a living 




tongue 


THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 


Spake from the printed leaves or 




pictured faces ! 


'Build me straight, worthy 




Master ! 


Perhaps on earth I never shall 


Stanch and strong, a goodly 


behold, 


vessel, 


With eye of sense, your outward 


That shall laugh at all disaster, 


form and semblance ; 


And with wave and whirlwind 


Therefore to me ye never will grow 
old, 
But live forever young in my re- 


wrestle ! ' 


The merchant's word 


membrance ! 


Delighted the Master heard ; 




For his heart was in his work, and 


Never grow old, nor change, nor 


the heart 


pass away ! 


Giveth grace unto every Art. 


Your gentle voices will flow on 


A quiet smile played round his 


forever, 


lips, 


When life grows bare and tar- 


As the eddies and dimples of the 


nished with decay, 


tide ' 10 


As through a leafless landscape 


Play round the bows of ships, 


flows a river. 


That steadily at anchor ride. 




And with a voice that was full of 


Not chance of birth or place has 


glee, 


made us friends, 


He answered, 'Erelong we will 


Being oftentimes of different 


launch 


tongues and nations, 


A vessel as goodly, and strong, and 


But the endeavor for the selfsame 


stanch, 


ends, 


As ever weathered a wintry sea ! • 


With the same hopes, and fears, 


And first with nicest skill and art, 


and aspirations. 


Perfect and finished in every part, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



A little model the Master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger 

plan 20 

What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature ; 
That with a hand more swift and 

sure 
The greater labor might be 

brought 
To answer to his inward thought. 
And as he labored, his mind ran 

o'er 
The various ships that were built 

of yore, 
And above them all, and strangest 

of all 
Towered the Great Harry, crank 

and tall, 
Wbose picture was hanging on the 

wall, 30 

With bows and stern raised high 

in air, 
And balconies hanging here and 

there, 
And signal lanterns and flags 

afloat, 
And eight round towers, like those 

that frown 
From some old castle, looking 

down 
Upon the drawbridge and the 

moat. 
And he said with a smile, ' Our 

ship, I wis, 
Shall be of another form than 

this ! ' 
It was of another form, indeed ; 
Built for freight, and yet for 

speed, 40 

A beautiful and gallant craft ; 
Broad in the beam, that the stress 

of the blast, 
Pressing clown upon sail and mast, 
Might not the sharp bows over- 
whelm ; 
Broad in the beam, but sloping 

aft 
With graceful curve and slow de- 
grees, 
That she might be docile to the 
helm, 



And that the currents of parted 

seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 
Might aid and not impede her 

course. 50 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind 
wrestle ! 

Covering many a rood of ground, 
Lay the timber piled around ; 
Timber of chestnut, and elm, and 

oak, 
And scattered here and there, with 

these, 
The knarred and crooked cedar 

knees ; 59 

Brought from regions far away, 
From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
And the banks of the roaring 

Roanoke ! 
Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 
To note how many wheels of toil 
One thought, one word, can set in 

motion ! 
There 's not a ship that sails the 

ocean, 
But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or 

small, 
And help to build the wooden 

wall ! 69 

The sun was rising o'er the sea, 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would 

be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
Framed and launched in a single 

day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every 

one, 
Ere the work of man was yet 

begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor lean- 
ing, 



:22 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Listened, to catch his slightest 
meaning. 80 

Only the long waves, as they hroke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they were, in sooth, 
The old man and the fiery youth! 
The old man, in whose busy brain 
Many a ship that sailed the main 
Was modelled o'er and o'er 

again ; — 
The fiery youth, who was to be 
The heir of his dexterity, go 

The heir of his house, and his 

daughter's hand, 
When he had built and launched 

from land 
What the elder head had planned. 

'Thus,' said he, ' will we build this 

ship ! 
Lay square the blocks upon the 

slip, 
And follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest 

care ; 
Of all that is unsound beware ; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 100 
Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
Here together shall combine. 
A goodly frame, and a goodly 

fame, 
And the Union be her name ! 
For the day that gives her to the 

sea 
Shall give my daughter unto thee ! ' 

The Master's word 
Enraptured the young man heard ; 
And as he turned his face aside, 
With a look of joy and a thrill of 

pride, no 

Standing before 
Her father's door, 
He saw the form of his promised 

bride. 
The sun shone on her golden hair, 
And her cheek was glowing fresh 

and fair, 



With the breath of morn and the 

soft sea air. 
Like a beauteous barge was she, 
Still at rest on the sandy beach, 
Just beyond the billow's reach ; 
But he i2« 

Was the restless, seething, stormy 

sea! 
Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command ! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's be- 
hest 
Far excelleth all the rest ! 

Thus with the rising of the sun 
Was the noble task begun, 
And soon throughout the ship- 
yard's bounds 130 
Were heard the intermingled 

sounds 
Of axes and of mallets, plied 
With vigorous arms on every side ; 
Plied so deftly and so well, 
That, ere the shadows of evening 

fell, 
The keel of oak for a noble ship, 
Scarfed and bolted, straight and 

strong, 
Was lying ready, and stretched 

along 
The blocks, well placed upon the 
slip. 139 

Happy, thrice happy, every one 
Who sees his labor well begun, 
And not perplexed and multiplied, 
By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was 

o'er, 
The young man at the Master's 

door 
Sat with the maiden calm and 

still, 
And within the porch, a little more 
Kemoved beyond the evening chill, 
The father sat, and told them 

tales 
Of wrecks in the great September 

gales, 150 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



Of pirates coasting the Spanish 
Main, 

And ships that never came back 
again, 

The chance and change of a sail- 
or's life, 

"Want and plenty, rest/ind strife, 

His roving fancy, like the wind, 

That nothing can stay and nothing 
can bind, 

And the magic charm of foreign 
lands, 

With shadows of palms, and shin- 
ing sands, 

Where the tumbling surf, 

O'er the coral reefs of Madagas- 
car, 1 60 

Washes the feet of the swarthy 
Lascar, 

As he lies alone and asleep on the 
turf. 

And the trembling maiden held 
her breath 

At the tales of that awful, pitiless 
sea, 

With all its terror and mystery, 

The dim, dark sea, so like unto 
Death, 

That divides and yet unites man- 
kind ! 

And whenever the old man paused, 
a gleam 

From the bowl of his pipe would 
awhile illume 

The silent group in the twilight 
gloom, 170 

And thoughtful faces, as in a 
dream ; 

And for a moment one might mark 

What had been hidden by the 
dark, 

That the head of the maiden lay at 
rest, 

Tenderly, on the young man's 
breast ! 

Day by day the vessel grew, 
With timbers fashioned strong and 

true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson- 

knee, 



Till, framed with perfect sym* 

metry, 
A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 
And around the bows and along 

the side 181 

The heavy hammers and mallets 

plied, 
Till after many a week, at length, 
Wonderful for form and strength, 
Sublime in its enormous bulk, 
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 
And around it columns of smoke, 

upwreathing, 
Eose from the boiling, bubbling, 

seething 
Caldron, that glowed, 
And overflowed 190 

With the black tar, heated for the 

sheathing. 
And amid the clamors 
Of clattering hammers, 
He who listened heard now and 

then 
The song of the Master and his 

men : — 

' Build me straight, O worthy Mas- 
ter, 
Stanch and strong, a goodly ves- 
sel, 
That shall laugh at all disas- 
ter, 
And with wave and whirlwind 
wrestle ! ' 

With oaken brace and copper 

band, 200 

Lay the rudder on the sand, 
That, like a thought, should have 

control 
Over the movement of the whole ; 
And near it the anchor, whose 

giant hand 
Would reach down and grapple 

with the land, 
And immovable and fast 
Hold the great ship against the 

bellowing blast ! 
And at the bows an image stood, 
By a cunning artist carved in 

wood, 



24 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 



With robes of white, that far be- 
hind 210 
Seemed to be fluttering in the 

wind. 
It was not shaped in a classic 

mould, 
Not like a Nymph or Goddess of 

old, 
Or Naiad rising from the water, 
But modelled from the Master's 

daughter ! 
On many a dreary and misty 

night, 
'T will be seen by the rays of the 

signal light, 
Speeding along through the rain 

and the dark, 
Like a ghost in its snow-white 

sark, 2 19 

The pilot of some phantom bark, 
Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 
By a path none other knows 

aright ! 

Behold, at last, 
Each tall and tapering mast 
Is swung into its place ; 
Shrouds and stays 
Holding it firm and fast ! 

Long ago, 

In the deer-haunted forests of 

Maine, 
When upon mountain and plain 
Lay the snow, 23 1 

They fell, —those lordly pines ! 
Those grand, majestic pines ! 
'Mid shouts and cheers 
The jaded steers, 
Panting beneath the goad, 
Dragged down the weary, winding 

road 
Those captive kings so straight 

and tall, 
To be shorn of their streaming 

hair, 
And naked and bare, 240 

To feel the stress and the strain 
Of the wind and the reeling main, 
Whose roar 
Would remind them f orevermore 



Of their native forests they should 
not see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air, 

And at the mast-head, 

White, blue, and red, 250 

A flag unrolls the stripes and 

stars. 
Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, 

friendless, 
In foreign harbors shall behold 
That flag unrolled, 
'T will be as a friendly hand 
Stretched out from his native land, 
Filling his heart with memories 

sweet and endless ! 

All is finished ! and at length 
Has come the bridal day 
Of beauty and of strength. 260 
To-day the vessel shall be 

launched ! 
With fleecy clouds the sky is 

blanched, 
And o'er the bay, 
Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 
The great sun rises to behold the 

sight. 
The ocean old, 
Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncon- 
trolled, 
Paces restless to and fro, 269 

Up and down the sands of gold. 
His beating heart is not at rest ; 
And far and wide, 
With ceaseless flow, 
His beard of snow 
Heaves with the heaving of his 

breast. 
He waits impatient for his bride. 
There she stands, 
With her foot upon the sands, 
Decked with flags and streamers 

gay, 
In honor of her marriage day, 280 
Her snow-white signals fluttering, 

blending, 
Round her like a veil descending, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



25 



Ready to be 

The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride 

Is standiDg by her lover's side. 

Shadows from the flags and 

shrouds, 
Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
Broken by many a sudden fleck, 
Fall around them on the deck. 290 

The prayer is said, 

The service read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his 

head ; 
And in tears the good old Master 
Shakes the brown hand of his son, 
Kisses his daughter's glowing 

cheek 
In silence, for he cannot speak, 
And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 
The worthy pastor — 300 

The shepherd of that wandering 

flock, 
That has the ocean for its wold, 
That has the vessel for its fold, 
Leaping ever from rock to rock — 
Spake, with accents mild and clear, 
"Words of warning, words of cheer, 
But tedious to the bridegroom's 

ear. 
He knew the chart 
Of the sailor's heart, 309 

All its pleasures and its griefs, 
All its shallows and rocky reefs, 
All those secret currents, that flow 
With such resistless undertow, 
And lift and drift, with terrible 

force, 
The will from its moorings and its 

course. 
Therefore he spake, and thus said 

he: — 

1 Like unto ships far off at sea, 
Outward or homeward bound, are 

we. 
Before, behind, and all around, 
Floats and swings the horizon's 

bound, 320 



Seems at its distant rim to rise 
And climb the crystal wall of the 

skies, 
And then again to turn and 

sink, 
As if we could slide from its outer 

brink. 
Ah ! it is not the sea, 
It is not the sea that sinks and 

shelves, 
But ourselves 
That rock and rise 
With endless and uneasy mo. 

tion, 
Now touching the very skies, 330 
Now sinking into the depths of 

ocean. 
Ah! if our souls but poise and 

swing 
Like the compass in its brazen 

ring, 
Ever level and ever true 
To the toil and the task we have 

to do, 
We shall sail securely, and safely 

reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose 

shining beach 
The sights we see, and the sounds 

we hear, 
Will be those of joy and not of 

fear ! ' 

Then the Master, 340 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand; 

And at the word, 

Loud and sudden there was heard, 

All around them and below, 

The sound of hammers, blow on 

blow, 
Knocking away the shores and 

spurs. 
And see ! she stirs ! 
She starts, — she moves, — she 

seems to feel 
The thrill of life along her keel, 
And, spurning with her foot the 

ground, 3 51 

With one exulting, joyous bound v 
She leaps into the ocean's arms » 



[26 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and 

loud, 
That to the ocean seemed to say, 
' Take her, O bridegroom, old and 

gray, 
Take her to thy protecting arms, 
With all her youth and all her 

charms ! ' 

How beautiful she is ! How 
fair 360 

She lies within those arms, that 
press 

Her form with many a soft caress 

Of tenderness and watchful care ! 

Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! 

Through wind and wave, right on- 
ward steer ! 

The moistened eye, the trembling 
lip, 

Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
O gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
And safe from all adversity 370 
Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be ! 
For gentleness and love and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ! 
And in the wreck of noble lives 
Something immortal still survives ! 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 
Sail on, O Union, strong and 

great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future 

years, m 380 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what Master laid thy 

keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs 

of steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and 

rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers 

beat, 
In what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy 

hope! 



Fear not each sudden sound and 

shock, 
'T is of the wave and not the rock ; 
'Tis but the flapping of the 

sail, 390 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 
In spite of rock and tempest's 

roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the 

sea! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with 

thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, 

our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with 

thee ! 

SEAWEED 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with seaweed from the 
rocks : 

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges, 
In some far-off, bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing, 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 

From the tumbling surf, that 
buries 
The Orkneyan skerries, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides; 
And from wrecks of ships, and 
drifting 
Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On tbe shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches, 
All have found repose again. 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA 



127 



So when storms of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, erelong 
From each cave and rocky fast- 
ness, 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

From the far-off isles enchanted, 

Heaven has planted 
With the golden fruit of Truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose 
vision 

Gleams Elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong Will, and the En- 
deavor 
That forever 
Wrestle with the tides of Fate ; 
From the wreck of Hopes far- 
scattered, 
Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On thf shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in hooks recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 



CHRYSAOR 

In the first edition of The Seaside and 
the Fireside this poem bore the title of 
The Evening Star. 

Just above yon sandy bar, 
As the day grows fainter and 
dimmer, 
Lonely and lovely, a single star 
Lights the air with a dusky 
glimmer. 

Into the ocean faint and far 
Falls the trail of its golden 
splendor, 
And the gleam of that single star 
Is ever refulgent, soft, and 
tender. 



Chrysaor, rising out of the sea, 
Showed thus glorious and thus 
emulous, 
Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, 
Forever tender, soft, and tremu- 
lous. 

Thus o'er the ocean faint and far 
Trailed the gleam of his falchion 
brightly ; 
Is it a God, or is it a star 
That, entranced, I gaze on 
nightly ! 

THE SECRET OF THE SEA 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt 
me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors, 
And. the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
Haunts me oft, and tarries long, 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, 
Where the sand as silver shines, 

With a soft, monotonous cadence, 
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
With his hawk upon his hand, 

Saw a fair and stately galley, 
Steering onward to the land ; — 

How he heard the ancient helms- 
man 

Chant a song so wild and clear, 
That the sailing sea-bird slowly 

Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 
And he cried, with impulse 
strong, — 



128 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



•Helmsman! for the love of hea- 


As they beat at the crazy case- 


ven, 


ment, 


Teach me, too, that wondrous 


Tell to that little child? 


song ! ' 






And why do the roaring ocean, 


"Wouldst thou,'— so the helms- 


And the night-wind, wild and 


i man answered, 


bleak, 


' Learn the secret of the sea? 


As they beat at the heart of the 


Only those who brave its dangers 


mother 


Comprehend its mystery ! ' 


Drive the color from her cheek ? 


In each sail that skims the hori- 




zon, 


SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 


In each landward - blowing 




breeze, 


Southward with fleet of ice 


I behold that stately galley, 


Sailed the corsair Death ; 


Hear those mournful melodies ; 


Wild and fast blew the blast, 




And the east - wind was his 


Till my soul is full of longing 


breath. 


For the secret of the sea, 




And the heart of the great ocean 


His lordly ships of ice 


Sends a thrilling pulse through 


Glisten in the sun ; 


me. 


On each side, like pennons wide, 




Flashing crystal streamlets run. 


TWILIGHT 


His sails of white sea-mist 




Dripped with silver rain ; 


The twilight is sad and cloudy, 


But where he passed there were 


The wind blows wild and free, 


cast 


And like the wings of sea-birds 


Leaden shadows o'er the main. 


Flash the white caps of the sea. 






Eastward from Campobello 


But in the fisherman's cottage 


Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 


There shines a ruddier light, 


Three days or more seaward h6 


And a little face at the window 


bore, 


Peers out into the night. 


Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 


Close, close it is pressed to the 


Alas ! the land-wind failed, 


window, 


And ice-cold grew the night ; 


As if those childish eyes 


And nevermore, on sea or shore, 


Were looking into the darkness 


Should Sir Humphrey see the 


To see some form arise. 


light. 


And a woman's waving shadow 


He sat upon the deck, 


Is passing to and fro, 


The Book was in his hand ; 


Now rising to the ceiling, 


' Do not fear ! Heaven is as 


Now bowing and bending low. 


near,' 




He said, ' by water as by land ! ' 


What tale do the roaring ocean, 




And the night-wind, bleak and 


In the first watch of the night, 


wild, 


Without a signal's sound, 



THE LIGHTHOUSE 



129 



Out of the sea, mysteriously. 


Beams forth the sudden radiance 


The fleet of Death rose all 


of its light 


around. 


With strange, unearthly splen- 




dor in the glare ! 


The moon and the evening star 




Were hanging in the shrouds ; 


Not one alone ; from each project- 


Every mast, as it passed, 


ing cape 


Seemed to rake the passing 


And perilous reef along the 


clouds. 


ocean's verge, 




Starts into life a dim, gigantic 


They grappled with their prize, 


shape, 


At midnight black and cold ! 


Holding its lantern o'er the rest- 


As of a rock was the shock ; 


less surge. 


Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 






Like the great giant Christopher 


Southward through day and dark, 


it stands 


They drift in close embrace, 


Upon the brink of the tempestu- 


With mist and rain, o'er the open 


ous wave, 


main; 


Wading far out among the rocks 


Yet there seems no change of 


and sands, 


place. 


The night-o'ertaken mariner to 


Southward, forever southward, 


save. 


They drift through dark and day ; 


And the great ships sail outward 


And like a dream, in the Gulf- 


and return, 


Stream 


Bending and bowing o'er the 


Sinking, vanish all away. 


billowy swells, 




And ever joyful, as they see it 


THE LIGHTHOUSE 


burn, 




They wave their silent welcomes 


The rocky ledge runs far into the 


and farewells. 


sea, 
And on its outer point, some 


They come forth from the dark- 


miles away, 


ness, and their sails 


The Lighthouse lifts its massive 


Gleam for a moment only in the 


masonry, 


blaze, 


A pillar of fire by night, of cloud 


And eager faces, as the light un- 


by day. 


veils, 




Gaze at the tower, and vanish 


Even at this distance I can see the 


while they gaze. 


tides, 




Upheaving, break unheard along 


The mariner remembers when a 


its base, 


child, 


A speechless wrath, that rises and 


On his first voyage, he saw it 


subsides 


fade and sink ; 


In the white lip and tremor of 


And when, returning from adven- 


the face. 


tures wild, 




He saw it rise again o'er ocean's 


A.nd as the evening darkens, lo ! 


brink. 


how bright, 




Through the deep purple of the 


Steadfast, serene, immovable, the 


twilight air, 


same 



130 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Year after year, through all the 


THE FIRE OF. DRIFT-WOOD 


silent night 




Burns on f orevermore that quench- 


DEVEKEUX FARM', NEAR MAR- 


less flame, 


BLEHEAD 


Shines on that inextinguishable 




light ! 


We sat within the farm-house 
old, 
Whose windows, looking o'er the 


It sees the ocean to its bosom 


clasp 


bay, 


The rocks and sea-sand with the 


Gave to the sea-breeze damp and 


kiss of peace ; 


cold 


It sees the wild winds lift it in 


An easy entrance, night and day. 


their grasp, 




And hold it up, and shake it like 


Not far away we saw the port, 


a fleece. 


The strange, old-fashioned, si- 




lent town, 


The startled waves leap over it; 


The lighthouse, the dismantled 


the storm 


fort, 


Smites it with all the scourges 


The wooden houses, quaint and 


of the rain, 


brown. 


And steadily against its solid 




form 


We sat and talked until the night, 


Press the great shoulders of the 


Descending, filled the little 


hurricane. 


room ; 




Our faces faded from the sight, 


The sea-bird wheeling round it, 


Our voices only broke the 


with the din 


gloom. 


Of wings and winds and solitary 




cries, 


We spake of many a vanished 


Blinded and maddened by the light 


scene, 


within, 


Of what we once had thought 


Dashes himself against the glare, 


and said, 


and dies. ■ 


Of what had been, and might have 




been, 


A new Prometheus, chained upon 


And who was changed, and who 


the rock, 


was dead ; 


Still grasping in his hand the fire 




of Jove, 


And all that fills the hearts of 


It does not hear the cry, nor heed 


friends, 


the shock, 


When first they feel, with secret 


But hails the mariner with words 


pain, 


of love. 


Their lives thenceforth have sep- 




arate ends, 


•Sail on!' it says, * sail on, ye 


And never can be one again ; 


stately ships ! 




And with your floating bridge 


The first slight swerving of the 


the ocean span ; 


heart, 


Be mine to guard this light from 


That words are powerless to 


all eclipse, 


express, 


Be yours to bring man nearer 


And leave it still unsaid in part, 


unto man 1 ' 


Or say it in too great excess. J 



RESIGNATION 



E3i 



The very tones in which we 
spake 
Had something strange, I could 
but mark ; 
The leaves of memory seemed to 
make 
A mournful rustling in the 
dark. 

Oft died the words upon our 
lips, 
As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of the wreck of stranded 
ships, 
The flames would leap and then 
expire. 

, And, as their splendor flashed and 
failed, 
"We thought of wrecks upon the 
main, 
f Of ships dismasted, that were 
hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their 
frames, 
The ocean, roaring up the 
beach, 
The gusty blast, the bickering 
flames, 
All mingled vaguely in our 
speech ; 

Until they made themselves a 
part 
Of fancies floating through the 
brain, 
The long - lost ventures of the 
heart, 
That send no answers . back 
again. 

O flames that glowed! O hearts 
that yearned ! 
They were indeed too much 
akin, 
The drift-wood fire without that 
burned, 
The thoughts that burned and 
glowed within. 



BY THE FIRESIDE 

[RESIGNATION 

There is no flock, however 
watched and tended, 
But one dead lamb is there ! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er de- 
fended, 
But has one vacant chair ! 

The air is full of farewells to the 
dying, 
And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her chil- 
dren crying, 
Will not be comforted ! 

/ 

Let us be patient! These severe 
afflictions 
Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedic- 
tions 
Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the 
mists and vapors ; 
Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal 
tapers 
May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death ! What seems 
so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our 
affection, — 
But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our 
poor protection, 
And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness 
and seclusion, 
By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from 
sin's pollution, 
She lives, whom we call dead. 



3 2 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



Day after day we think what she 
is doing 
In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year, her tender steps 
pursuing, 
Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and 

keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 

Thinking that our remembrance, 

though unspoken, 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again be- 
hold her ; 
For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold 
her, 
She will not be a child ; 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's 
mansion, 
Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's 
expansion 
Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous 
with emotion 
And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moan- 
ing like the ocean, 
That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage 
the feeling 
"We may not wholly stay; 
By silence sanctifying, not conceal- 
ing, 
The grief that must have way. 

THE BUILDERS 

All are architects of Fate, 
Working in these walls of 
Time ; 
Some with massive deeds and 
great, 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 



Nothing useless is, or low ; 

Each thing in its place is best; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the 
rest. 

For the structure that we raise, 
Time is with materials filled ; 

Our to-days and yesterdays 
Are the blocks with which we 
build. 

Truly shape and fashion these ; 

Leave no yawning gaps be- 
tween ; 
Think not, because no man sees, 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest 
care 
Each minute and unseen part ; 

For the Gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the seen ; 

Make the house, where Gods may 
dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete, 
Standing in these walls of Time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure. 

With a firm and ample base ; 
And ascending and secure 

Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 
To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of sky. 

sand of the desert in 
An hour-glass 

A handful of red sand, from the 
hot clime 
Of Arab deserts brought, 



THE OPEN WINDOW 



*33 



Within this glass becomes the spy 


And as I gaze, these narrow walls 


of Time, 


expand ; — 


The minister of Thought. 


Before my dreamy eye 




Stretches the desert with its shift- 


How many weary centuries has it 


ing sand, 


been 


Its unimpeded sky. 


About those deserts blown ! 




How many strange vicissitudes 


And borne aloft by the sustaining 


has seen, 


blast, 


How many histories known ! 


This little golden thread 




Dilates into a column high and 


Perhaps the camels of the Ish- 


vast, 


maelite 


A form of fear and dread. 


Trampled and passed it o'er, 




When into Egypt from the patri- 


And onward, and across the set- 


arch's sight 


ting sun, 


His favorite son they bore. 


Across the boundless plain, 




The column and its broader shadow 


Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt 


run, 


and bare, 


Till thought pursues in vain. 


Crushed it beneath their tread, 




Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into 


The vision vanishes ! These walls 


the air 


again 


Scattered it as they sped ; 


Shut out the lurid sun, 




Shut out the hot, immeasurable 


Or Mary, with the Christ of Naza- 


plain ; 


reth 


The half-hour's sand is run ! 


Held close in her caress, 




Whose pilgrimage of hope and 


THE OPEN WINDOW 


love and faith 




Illumed the wilderness ; 


The old house by the lindens 




Stood silent in the shade, 


Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's 


And on the gravelled pathway 


palms 


The light and shadow played. 


Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 




And singing slow their old Ar- 


I saw the nursery windows 


menian psalms 


Wide open to the air ; 


In half -articulate speech ; 


But the faces of the children, 




They were nO longer there. 


Or caravans, that from Bassora's 




gate 


The large Newfoundland house- 


With westward steps depart ; 


dog 


> Mecca's pilgrims, confident of 


Was standing by the door ; 


Fate, 


He looked for his little playmates, 


And resolute in heart ; 


Who would return no more. 


These have passed over it, or may 


They walked not under the lin- 


have passed ! 


dens, 


Now in this crystal tower 


They played not in the hall ; 


Imprisoned by some curious hand 


But shadow, and silence, and sad- 


at last, 


ness 


It counts the passing hour. 


Were hanging over all. 



134 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



The birds sang in the branches, 
"With sweet, familiar tone ; 

But the voices of the children 
Will be heard in dreams alone ! 

And the boy that walked beside 
me, 

He could not understand 
Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, 

I pressed his warm, soft hand ! 



KING WITLAF'S DRINKING- 
HORN 

Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, 
Ere yet his last he breathed, 

To the merry monks of Croyland 
His drinking-horn bequeathed, — 

That, whenever they sat at their 
revels, 
And drank from the golden bowl, 
They might remember the donor, 
And breathe a prayer for his 
soul. 

So sat they once at Christmas, 
And bade the goblet pass ; 

In their beards the red wine glis- 
tened 
Like dew-drops in the grass. 

They drank to the soul of Witlaf, 
They drank to Christ the Lord, 

And to each of the Twelve Apos- 
tles, 
Who had preached his holy word. 

They drank to the Saints and Mar- 
tyrs 
Of the dismal days of yore, 
And as soon as the horn was empty 
They remembered one Saint 
more. 

And the reader droned from the 
pulpit, 

Like the murmur of many bees, 
The legend of good Saint Guthlac, 

And Saint Basil's homilies ; 



Till the great bells of the con- 
vent, - 

From their prison in the tower, 
Guthlac and Bartholomgeus, 

Proclaimed the midnight hour. 

And the Yule-log cracked in the 
chimney, 
And the Abbot bowed his head, 
And the flamelets flapped and 
flickered, 
But the Abbot was stark and 
dead. 

Yet still in his pallid fingers 
He clutched the golden bowl, 

In which, like a pearl dissolving, 
Had sunk and dissolved his soul. 

But not for this their revels 
The jovial monks forbore, 
For they cried, ' Fill high the gob- 
let! 
We must drink to one Saint 
more ! ' 



GASPAR BECERRA 

By his evening fire the artist 
Pondered o'er his secret shame ; 

Baffled, weary, and disheartened, 
Still he mused, and dreamed of 
fame. 

'T was an image of the Virgin 
That had tasked his utmost 
skill ; 

But, alas ! his fair ideal 
"Vanished and escaped him still. 

From a distant Eastern island 
Had the precious wood been 
brought ; 

Day and night the anxious master 
At his toil untiring wrought ; 

Till, discouraged and desponding, 
Sat he now in shadows deep, 

And the day's humiliation 
Found oblivion in sleep. 



PEGASUS IN POUND 



135 



Then a voice cried, 'Rise, O 
master ! 
From the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs with- 
in thee ! '— 
And the startled artist woke, — 

Woke, and from the smoking em- 
bers 
Seized and quenched the glow- 
ing wood ; 
And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which lieth nearest ; 

Shape from that thy work of art. 

PEGASUS IN POUND 

Once into a quiet village, 
Without haste and without heed, 

In the golden prime of morning, 
Strayed the poet's winged steed. 

It was Autumn, and incessant 
Piped the quails from shocks 
and sheaves, 
And, like living coals, the apples 
Burned among the withering 
leaves. 

Loud the clamorous bell was ring- 
ing 

From its belfry gaunt and grim ; 
'T was the daily call to labor, 

Not a triumph meant for him. 

Not the less he saw the landscape, 
In its gleaming vapor veiled ; 

Not the less he breathed the odors 
That the dying leaves exhaled. 

Thus, upon the village common, 
By the school-boys he was found ; 

And the wise men, in their wisdom, 
Put him straightway into pound. 

Then the sombre village crier, 
Ringing loud his brazen bell, 



Wandered down the street pro- 
claiming 
There was an e stray to sell. 

And the curious country people, 
Rich and poor, and young and 
old, 
Came in haste to see this won- 
drous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold. 

Thus the day passed, and the even- 
ing 
Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; 
But it brought no food nor shel- 
ter, 
Brought no straw nor stall, for 
him. 

Patiently, and still expectant, 
Looked he through the wooden 
bars, 
Saw the moon rise o'er the land- 
scape, 
Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; 

Till at length the bell at midnight 
Sounded from its dark abode, 

And, from out a neighboring farm- 
yard, 
Load the cock Alectryon crowed. 

Then, with nostrils wide dis- 
tended, 

Breaking from his iron chain, 
And unfolding far his pinions, 

To those stars he soared again. 

On the morrow, when the village 

Woke to all its toil and care, 
Lo! the strange steed had de- 
parted, 
And they knew not when nor 
where. 

But they found, upon the green- 
sward 
Where his struggling hoofs had 
trod, 
Pure and bright, a fountain flowing 
From the hoof-marks in the sod. 



i 3 6 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 



From that hour, the fount unfailing 


They laid him in his ship, 


Gladdens the whole region 


With horse and harness, 


round, 


As on a funeral pyre. 


Strengthening all who drink its 


Odin placed 


waters, 


A ring upon his finger, 


While it soothes them with its 


And whispered in his ear. 


sound. 






They launched the burning ship I 


TEGNER'S DRAPA 


It floated far away 


Over the misty sea, 




Till like the sun it seemed, 


I heard a voice, that cried, 


Sinking beneath the waves. 


' Balder the Beautiful 


Balder returned no more ! 


Is dead, is dead ! ' 




And through the misty air 


So perish the old Gods ! 


Passed like the mournful cry 


But out of the sea of Time 


Of sunward sailing cranes. 


Rises a new land of song, 




Fairer than the old. 


I saw the pallid corpse 


Over its meadows green 


Of the dead sun 


Walk the young bards and sing. 


Borne through the Northern sky. 




Blasts from Niffelheim 


Build it again, 


Lifted the sheeted mists 


ye bards, 


Around him as he passed. 


Fairer than before ! 




Ye fathers of the new race, 


And the voice forever cried, 


Feed upon morning dew, 


* Balder the Beautiful 


Sing the new Song of Love ! 


Is dead, is dead ! ' 




And died away 


The law of force is dead ! 


Through the dreary night, 


The law of love prevails ! 


In accents of despair. 


Thor, the thunderer, 




Shall rule the earth no more, 


Balder the Beautiful, 


No more, with threats, 


God of the summer sun, 


Challenge the meek Christ 


Fairest of all the Gods ! 




Light from his forehead beamed, 


Sing no more, 


Runes were upon his tongue, 


ye bards of the North, 


As on the warrior's sword. 


Of Vikings and of Jar Is ! 




Of the days of Eld 


All things in earth and air 


Preserve the freedom only, 


Bound were by magic spell 


Not the deeds of blood ! 


Never to do him harm ; 




Even the plants and stones ; 




All save the mistletoe, 


SONNET 


The sacred mistletoe ! 






ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS 


Hoeder, the blind old God, 


PROM SHAKESPEARE 


Whose feet are shod with silence, 




Pierced through that gentle breast 


precious evenings ! all too 


With his sharp spear, by fraud, 


swiftly sped ! 


Made of the mistletoe, 


Leaving us heirs to amplest 


The accursed mistletoe ! 


heritages 



HYMN 



137 



Of all the best thoughts of the 
greatest sages, 

And giving tongues unto the 
silent dead ! 
How our hearts glowed and trem- 
bled as she read, 

Interpreting by tones the won- 
drous pages 

Of the great poet who foreruns 
the ages, 

Anticipating all that shall be 
said! 
O happy Header! having for thy 
text 

The magic book, whose Sibylline 
leaves have caught 

The rarest essence of all human 
thought ! 
' O happy Poet ! by no critic vext ! 

How must thy listening spirit 
now rejoice 
To be interpreted by such a voice ! 



THE , SINGERS 

God sent his Singers upon earth 
With songs of sadness and of 

mirth, 
That they might touch the hearts 

of men, 
And bring them back to heaven 

again. 

The first, a youth with soul of 

fire, 
Held in his hand a golden lyre ; 
Through groves he wandered, and 

by streams, 
Playing the music of our dreams. 

The second, with a bearded face, 
Stood singing in the market-place, 
And stirred with accents deep and 

loud 
The hearts of all the listening 

crowd. 

A gray old man, the third and last, 
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, 
While the majestic organ rolled 
Contrition from its mouths of gold. 



And those who heard the Singers 

three 
Disputed which the best might be ; 
For still their music seemed to start 
Discordant echoes in each heart. 

But the great Master said, ' I see 
No best in kind, but in degree ; 
I gave a various gift to each, 
To charm, to strengthen, and to 
teach. 

' These are the three great chords 

of might, 
And he whose ear is tuned aright 
Will hear no discord in the three, 
But the most perfect harmony.' 

SUSPIRIA 

Take them, O Death! and bear 
away 
Whatever thou canst call thine 
own ! 
Thine image, stamped upon this 
clay, 
Doth give thee that, but that 
alone ! 

Take them, O Grave ! and let 
them lie 

Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 
As garments by the soul laid by, 

And precious only to ourselves ! 

Take them, O great Eternity ! 

Our little life is but a gust 
That bends the branches of thy 
tree, 
And trails its blossoms in the 
dust! 

HYMN 

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION 

Christ to the young man said: 
' Yet one thing more ; 
If thou wouldst perfect be, 
Sell all thou hast and give it to the 
poor, 
And come and follow me ! ' 



138 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Within this temple Christ again, 


Beside him at the marriage feast 


unseen, 


shall be, 


Those sacred words hath said, 


To make the scene more fair ; 


And his invisible hands to-day 


Beside him in the dark Gethsem- 


have been 


ane 


Laid on a young man's head. 


Of pain and midnight prayer. 


And evermore beside him on his 


holy trust! endless sense of 


way 


rest! 


The unseen Christ shall move, 


Like the beloved John 


That he may lean upon his arm 


To lay his head upon the Saviour's 


and say, 


breast, 


4 Dost thou, dear Lord, approve ? ' 


And thus to journey on ! 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



INTRODUCTION 

Should you ask me, whence these 

stories ? 
Wbence these legends and tradi- 
tions, 
With the odors of the forest, 
With the dew and damp of mead- 
ows, 
With the curling smoke of wig- 
wams, 
With the rushing of great rivers, 
With their frequent repetitions, 
And their wild reverberations, 
As of thunder in the mountains ? 
I should answer, I should tell 
you, io 

' From the forests and the prairies, 
From the great lakes of the North- 
land, 
From the land of the Ojibways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and 

fen-lands 
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh- 

gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the lips of Nawadaha, 19 
The musician, the sweet singer.' 

Should yon ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs so wild and 
wayward, 



Found these legends and tradi- 
tions, 
I should answer, I should tell 

you, 
' In the bird's-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver, 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 
'All the wild-fowl sang them to 
him, 29 

In the moorlands and the fen-lands, 
In the melancholy marshes ; 
Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, 

Wawa, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa ! ' 
If still further you should ask me, 
Saying, ' Who was Nawadaha ? 
Tell us of this Nawadaha,' 
I should answer your inquiries 
Straightway in such words as fol- 
low. 40 
* In the vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Eound about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn- 
fields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine- 
trees, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



:39 



Green in Summer, white in Winter, 

Ever sighing, ever singing. 50 

' And the pleasant water-courses, 

You could trace them through the 

valley, 
By the rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the alders in the Summer, 
By the white fog in the Autumn, 
By the hlack line in the Winter ; 
And beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

' There he sang of Hiawatha, 60 
Sang the Song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived, and toiled, and suf- 
fered, 
That the tribes of men might pros- 
per, 
That he might advance his people ! ' 
Ye who love the haunts of Na- 
ture, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
Love the shadow of the forest, 69 
Love the wind among the branches, 
And the rain-shower and the snow- 
storm, 
And the rushing of great rivers 
Through their palisades of pine- 
trees, 
And the thunder in the mountains, 
Whose innumerable echoes 
Flap like eagles in their eyries ; — 
Listen to these wild traditions, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye who love a nation's legends, 
Love the ballads of a people, 80 
That like voices from afar off 
Call to us to pause and listen, 
Speak in tones so plain and child- 
like, 
Scarcely can the ear distinguish 
Whether they are sung or spoken ; — 
Listen to this Indian Legend, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 
Ye whose hearts are fresh and 
simple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 
Who believe that in all ages 90 
Every human heart is human, 



That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, 

strivings 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness, 
Touch God's right hand in that 

darkness 
And are lifted up and strength- 
ened ; — 
Listen to this simple story, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 100 
Ye, who sometimes, in your ram- 
bles 
Through the green lanes of the 

country, 
Where the tangled barberry-bushes 
Hang their tufts of crimson berries 
Over stonewalls gray with mosses, 
Pause by some neglected grave- 
yard, 
For a while to muse, and ponder 
On a half effaced inscription, 
Written with little skill of song- 
craft, 109 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
Full of hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — 
Stay and read this rude inscription, 
Head this Song of Hiawatha ! 



THE PEACE-PIPE 

On the Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the great Ked Pipe-stone 

Quarry, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
He the Master of Life, descending, 
On the red crags of the quarry 
Stood erect, and called the nations, 
Called the tribes of men together. 
From his footprints flowed a 
river, 
Leaped into the light of morning, 
O'er the precipice plunging down- 
ward 10 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, tlve 
comet. 



140 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And the Spirit, stooping earth- 
ward, 
With his finger on the meadow 
Traced a winding pathway for it, 
Saying to it, ' Run in this way ! ' 

From the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a frag- 
ment, 
Moulded it into a pipe-head, 
Shaped and fashioned it with 

figures ; 
From the margin of the river 20 
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, 
With its dark green leaves upon it ; 
Filled the pip"e with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow ; 
Breathed upon the neighboring 

forest, 
Made its great boughs chafe to- 
gether, 
Till in flame they burst and kin- 
dled; 
And erect upon the mountains, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Smoked the calumet, the Peace- 
Pipe, 30 

As a signal to the nations. 
And the smoke rose slowly, 
slowly, 
Through the tranquil air of morn- 
ing, 
First a single line of darkness, 
Then a denser, bluer vapor, 
Then a snow-white cloud unfold- 
ing, 
Like the tree-tops of the forest, 
Ever rising, rising, rising, 
Till it touched the top of heaven, 
Till it broke against the heaven, 40 
And rolled outward all around it. 
From the Vale of Tawasentha, 
From the Valley of Wyoming, 
From the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
From the far-off Rocky Mountains, 
From the Northern lakes and 

rivers 
All the tribes beheld the signal, 
Saw the distant smoke ascending, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. 
And the Prophets of the na- 
tions 50 



Said : ' Behold it, the Pukwana ! 
By this signal from afar off, 
Bending like a wand of willow, 
Waving like a hand that beckons, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Calls the tribes of men together, 
Calls the warriors to his council ! ' 
Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, 
Came the warriors of the nations, 
Came the Delawares and Mo- 
hawks, 60 
Came the Choctaws and Caman- 

ches, 
Came the Shoshonies and Black- 
feet, 
Came the Pawnees and Omahas, 
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
Came the Hurons and Ojibways, 
All the warriors drawn together 
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
To the Mountains of the Prairie, 
To the great Red Pipe-stone 
Quarry. 
And they stood there on the 
meadow, 70 

With their weapons and their war- 
gear, 
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Wildly glaring at each other ; 
In their faces stern defiance, 
In their hearts the feuds of ages, 
The hereditary hatred, 
The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The creator of the nations, 80 

Looked upon them with compas- 
sion, 
With paternal love and pity; 
Looked upon their wrath and 

wrangling 
But as quarrels among children, 
But as feuds and fights of chil- 
dren ! 
Over them he stretched his right 
hand, 
To subdue their stubborn natures, 
To allay their thirst and fever, 
By the shadow of his right hand ; 
Spake to them with voice ma- 
jestic 90 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



14] 



As the sound of far-off waters, 
Falling into deep abysses, 
Warning, chiding, spake in this 
wise : — 
' O my children ! my poor chil- 
dren ! 
Listen to the words of wisdom, 
Listen to the words of warning, 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, who 
made you ! 
' I have given you lands to hunt 
in, 
I have given you streams to fish 
in, 100 

I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
, I have given you brant and beaver, 
Filled the marshes full of wild- 
fowl, 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented ? 
Why then will you hunt each 
other ? 
' I am weary of your quarrels, 
Weary of your wars and blood- 
shed, 
Weary of your prayers for ven- 
geance, no 
Of your wranglings and dissen- 
sions ; 
All your strength is in your union, 
All your danger is in discord ; 
Therefore be at peace hencefor- 
ward, 
And as brothers live together. 

' I will send a Prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall 

teach you, 
Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 120 
You will multiply and prosper ; 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 
Yon will fade away and perish ! 
' Bathe now in the stream before 
you, 
Wash the war-paint from your 

faces, 
Wash the blood-stains from your 
fingers, 



Bury your war -clubs and your 
weapons, 

Break the red stone from this 
quarry, 

Mould and make it into Peace- 
Pipes, 

Take the reeds that grow beside 
you, 130 

Deck them with your brightest 
feathers, 

Smoke the calumet together, 

And as brothers live hencefor- 
ward ! ' 
Then upon the ground the war- 
riors 

Threw their cloaks and shirts of 
deer-skin, 

Threw their weapons and their 
war-gear, 

Leaped into the rushing river, 

Washed the war-paint from their 
faces. 

Clear above them flowed the water, 

Clear and limpid from the foot- 
prints 140 

Of the Master of Life descending-. 

Dark below them flowed the water, 

Soiled and stained with streaks of 
crimson, 

As if blood were mingled with it ! 
From the river came the war- 
riors, 

Clean and washed from all their 
war-paint ; 

On the banks their clubs they 
buried, 

Buried all their warlike weapons. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 

The Great Spirit, the creator, 150 

Smiled upon his helpless children ! 
And in silence all the warriors 

Broke the red stone of the quarry, 

Smoothed and formed it into Peace- 
Pipes, 

Broke the long reeds by the river, 

Decked them with their brightest 
feathers, 

And departed each one home- 
ward, 

While the Master of Life, ascend- 
ing, 



142 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Through the opening of cloud-cur- 
tains, 

Through the doorways of the hea- 
ven, 1 60 

Vanished from before their faces, 

In the smoke that rolled around 
him, 

The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! 



II 

THE FOUR WINDS 

' Honor he to Mudjekeewis ! ' 
Cried the warriors, cried the old 

men, 
"When he came in triumph home- 
ward 
With the sacred Belt of Wampum, 
From the regions of the North- 
Wind, 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit. 
He had stolen the Belt of Wam- 
pum 
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, 
From the Great Bear of the moun- 
tains, 10 
From the terror of the nations, 
As he lay asleep and cumbrous 
On the summit of the mountains, 
Like a rock with mosses on it, 
Spotted brown and gray with 
mosses. 
Silently he stole upon him 
Till the red nails of the monster 
Almost touched him, almost scared 

him, 
Till the hot breath of his nostrils 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekee- 
wis, 20 
As he drew the Belt of Wampum 
Over the round ears, that heard 

not, 
Over the small eyes, that saw not, 
Over the long nose and nostrils, 
The black muffle of the nostrils, 
Out of which the heavy breathing 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekee- 
wis. 



Then he swung aloft his war- 
club, 
Shouted loud and long his war-cry, 
Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa 
In the middle of the forehead, 3 1 
Right between the eyes he smote 
him. 
With the heavy blow bewildered, 
Rose the Great Bear of the moun- 
tains ; 
But his knees beneath him trem- 
bled, 
And he whimpered like a woman, 
As he reeled and staggered for- 
ward, 
As he sat upon his haunches ; 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Standing fearlessly before him, 40 
Taunted him in loud derision, 
Spake disdainfully in this wise : — 
' Hark you, Bear ! you are a 
coward ; 
And no Brave, as you pretended ; 
Else you would not cry and whim- 
per 
Like a miserable woman ! 
Bear ! you know our tribes are hos- 
tile, 
Long have been at war together ; 
Now you find that we are strong- 
est, 
You go sneaking in the forest, 50 
You go hiding in the mountains ! 
Had you conquered me in battle 
Not a groan would I have ut- 
tered ; 
But you. Bear ! sit here and whim- 
per, 
And disgrace your tribe by crying, 
Like a wretched Shaugodaya, 
Like a cowardly old woman ! ' 
Then again he raised his war- 
club, 
Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa 
In the middle of his forehead, « 60 
Broke his skull, as ice is broken 
When one goes to fish in Winter. 
Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa, 
He the Great Bear of the moun- 
tains, 
He the terror of the nations. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



M3 



' Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! ' 

With a shout exclaimed the peo- 
ple, 

1 Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! 

Henceforth he shall be the West- 
Wind", 

And hereafter and forever 70 

Shall he hold supreme dominion 

Over all the winds of heaven. 

Call him no more Mudjekeewis, 

Call him Kabeyun, the West- 
Wind ! ' 
Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen 

Father of the Winds of Heaven. 

For himself he kept the West- 
Wind, 

Gave the others to his children ; 

-Unto Wabun gave the East- Wind, 

Gave the South to Shawondasee, 

And the North - Wind, wild and 
cruel, 81 

To the fierce Kabibonokka. 
Young and beautiful was Wa- 
bun; 

He it was who brought the morn- 
ing, 

He it was whose silver arrows 

Chased the dark o'er hill and val- 
ley; 

He it was whose cheeks were 
painted 

With the brightest streaks of 
crimson, 

And whose voice awoke the vil- 
lage, 

Called the deer, and called the 
hunter. go 

Lonely in the sky was Wabun ; 

Though the birds sang gayly to 
him, 

Though the wild -flowers of the 
meadow 

Filled the air with odors for 
him; 

Though the forests and the rivers 

Sang and shouted at his coming, 

Still his heart was sad within 
him, 

For he was alone in heaven. 
But one morning, gazing earth- 
ward, 



While the village still was sleep- 
ing, 100 

And the fog lay on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow, 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 
Every morning, gazing earth- 
ward, 
Still the first thing he beheld 
there 108 

Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes. 
And he loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming ; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 
And he wooed her with ca- 
resses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sun- 
shine, 
With his flattering words he wooed 

her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches. 
Softest music, sweetest odors, 120 
Till he drew her to his bosom, 
Folded in his robes of crimson, 
Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom ; 
And forever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 
Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, 
Wabun and the Star of Morning. 

But the fierce Kabibonokka 
Had his dwelling among icebergs, 
In the everlasting snow-drifts, 131 
In the kingdom of Wabasso, 
In the land of the White Rabbit. 
He it was whose hand in Autumn 
Painted all the trees with scai'let. 
Stained the leaves with red and 

yellow ; 
He it was who sent the snow- 
flakes, 
Sifting, hissing through the forest, 
Froze the ponds, the lakes, the 

rivers, 
Drove the loon and sea-gull south- 
ward, 140 



144 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Drove the cormorant and curlew 
To their nests of sedge and sea- 
tang 
In the realms of Shawondasee. 
Once the fierce Kabibonokka 
Issued from his lodge of snow- 
drifts, 
From his home among the ice- 
bergs, 
And his hair, with snow besprin- 
kled, 
Streamed behind him like a river, 
Like a black and wintry river, 
As he howled and hurried south- 
ward, 150 
Over frozen lakes and moorlands. 
There among the reeds and 
rushes 
Found he Shingebis, the diver, 
Trailing strings of fish behind 

him, 
O'er the frozen fens and moor- 
lands, 
Lingering still among the moor- 
lands, 
Though his tribe had long de- 
parted 
To the land of Shawondasee. 

Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, 
' Who is this that dares to brave 
me ? 1 60 

Dares to stay in my dominions, 
When the Wawa has departed, 
When the wild - goose has gone 

southward, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Long ago departed southward ? 
-I will go into his wigwam, 
I will put his smouldering fire 
out!' 
And at night Kabibonokka 
To the lodge came wild and wail- 
ing, 
Heaped the snow in drifts about 
it, 170 

Shouted down into the smoke-flue, 
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, 
Flapped the curtain of the door- 
way. 
Shingebis, the diver, feared not, 
Shingebis, the diver, cared not ; 



Four great logs had he for fire- 
wood, 
One for each moon of the winter, 
And for food the fishes served 

him. 
By his blazing fire he sat there, 
Warm and merry, eating, laugh- 
ing, 180 
Singing, ' O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my f ellow-morta* ! ' 

Then Kabibonokka entered, 
And though Shingebis, the diver, 
Felt his presence by the coldness, 
Felt his icy breath upon him, 
Still he did not cease his singing, 
Still he did not leave his laugh- 

ing, 
Only turned the log a little, 
Only made the fire burn brighter, 
Made the sparks fly up the smoke- 
flue. 19 1 
From Kabibonokka's forehead, 
From his snow - besprinkled 

tresses, 
Drops of sweat fell fast and 

heavy, 
Making dints upon the ashes, 
As along the eaves of lodges, 
As from drooping boughs of hem- 
lock, 
Drips the melting snow in spring- 
time, 
Making hollows in the snow-drifts. 

Till at last he rose defeated, 
Could not bear the heat and laugh- 
ter, 201 
Could not bear the merry singing, 
But rushed headlong through the 

door-way, 
Stamped upon the crusted snow- 
drifts, 
Stamped upon the lakes and riv- 
ers, 
Made the snow upon them harder, 
Made the ice upon them thicker, 
Challenged Shingebis, the diver, 
To come forth and wrestle with 

him, 
To come forth and wrestle naked 
On the frozen fens and moor- 
lands. . 211 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



HS 



Forth went Shingebis, the diver, 
Wrestled all night with the North- 
Wind, 
Wrestled naked on the moorlands 
With the fierce Kahibonokka, 
Till his panting breath grew 

fainter, 
Till his frozen grasp grew feebler, 
Till he reeled and staggered back- 
ward, 
And retreated, baffled, beaten, 
To the kingdom of Wabasso, 220 
To the land of the White Kabbit, 
Hearing still the gusty laughter, 
Hearing Shingebis, the diver, 
Singing, ' O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow-mortal ! ' 
, Shawondasee, fat and lazy, 
Had his dwelling far to south- 
ward, 
In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, 
In the never-ending Summer. 
He it was who sent the wood- 
birds, 230 
Sent the robin, the Opechee, 
Sent the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swal- 
low, 
Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, north- 
ward, 
Sent the melons and tobacco, 
And the grapes in purple clusters. 
From his pipe the smoke ascend- 
ing 
Filled the sky with haze and va- 
por, 
Filled the air with dreamy soft- 
ness, 
Gave a twinkle to the water, 240 
Touched the rugged hills with 

smoothness, 
Brought the 'tender Indian Sum- 
mer 
To the melancholy north-land, 
In the dreary Moon of Snow- 
shoes. 
Listless, careless Shawondasee ! 
In his life he had one shadow, 
In his heart one sorrow had he. 
Once, as he was gazing northward, 
Var away upon a prairie 



He beheld a maiden standing, 250 

Saw a tall and slender maiden 

All alone upon a prairie ; 

Brightest green were all her gar- 
ments, 

And her hair was like the sun- 
shine. 
Day by day he gazed upon her, 

Day by day he sighed with pas- 
sion, 

Day by day his heart within him 

Grew more hot with love and long- 
ing 

For the maid" with yellow tresses. 

But he was too fat and lazy 260 

To bestir himself and woo her. 

Yes, too indolent and easy 

To pursue her and persuade her ; 

So he only gazed upon her, 

Only sat and sighed with passion 

For the maiden of the prairie. 
Till one morning, looking north- 
ward, 

He beheld her yellow tresses 

Changed and covered o'er with 
whiteness, 

Covered as with whitest snow- 
flakes. 270 

' Ah ! my brother from the North- 
land, 

From the kingdom of Wabasso, 

From the land of the White Kab- 
bit! 

You have stolen the maiden from 
me, 

You have laid your hand upon her, 

You have wooed and won my 
maiden, 

With your stories of the North- 
land ! ' 
Thus the wretched Shawonda- 
see 

Breathed into the air his sorrow ; 

And the South - Wind o'er the 
prairie 280 

Wandered warm with sighs of pas- 
sion, 

With the sighs of Shawondasee, 

Till the air seemed full of snow- 
flakes, 

Full of thistle-down the prairie, 



146 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And the maid with hair like sun- 
shine 
Vanished from his sight forever ; 
Nevermore did Shawondasee 
See the maid with yellow tresses ! 

Poor, deluded Shawondasee ! 
>T was no woman that you gazed 
at, 290 

■T was no maiden that you sighed 

for, 
'T was the prairie dandelion 
That through all the dreamy Sum- 
mer 
You had gazed at with such long- 
ing, 
You had sighed for with such pas- 
sion, 
And had puffed away forever, 
Blown into the air with sighing. 
Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! 
Thus the Four Winds were di- 
vided ; 299 
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis 
Had their stations in the heavens, 
At the corner of the heavens ; 
For himself the West- Wind only 
Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. 



Ill 

HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 

Downward through the evening 

twilight, 
In the days that are forgotten, 
In the unrememhered ages, 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiful Nokomis, 
She a wife, but not a mother. 
She was sporting with her wo- 
men, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival the rejected, 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 10 
Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Cut in twain the twisted grape- 
vines, 
And Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward through the evening 
twilight, 



On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 
' See ! a star falls ! ' said the peo. 

pie; 
' From the sky a star is falling ! ' 
There among the ferns and 
mosses, 
There among the prairie lilies, 20 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
In the moonlight and the star- 
light, 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. 
And she called her name We- 

nonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight, 
With the beauty of the star- 
light. 30 
And Nokomis warned her often, 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
' Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis, 
Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis ; 
Listen not to what he tells you ; 
Lie not down upon the meadow, 
Stoop not down among the lilies, 
Lest the West-Wind come and harm 
you!' 
But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wis- 
dom, 40 
And the West-Wind came at even- 
ing, 
Walking lightly o'er the prairie, 
Whispering to the leaves and blos- 
soms, 
Bending low the flowers and 

grasses, 
Found the beautiful Wenonah, 
Lying there among the lilies, 
Wooed her with his words of 

sweetness, 
Wooed her with his soft caresses. 
Till she bore a son in sorrow, 
Bore a son of love and sorrow. 50 

Thus was born my Hiawatha, 
Thus was born the child of wor 

der ; 
But the daughter of Nokomis, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



147 



Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
In her anguish died deserted 
By the West-Wind, false and faith- 
less, 
By the heartless Mudjekeewis. 

For her (laughter long and loudly 
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; 
' Oh that I were dead ! ' she mur- 
mured, 60 
' Oh that I were dead, as thou art ! 
No more work, and no more weep- 
ing, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! ' 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
' Rose the hlack and gloomy pine- 
trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon 
them ; 70 

Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 

There the wrinkled old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
' Hush ! the Naked Bear will hear 
thee ! ' 80 

Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
' Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
Who is this, that lights the wig- 

warn ? 
With his great eyes lights the wig- 
wam? 
Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! ' 
Many things Nokomis taught 
him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
Showed him Ishkoodah,the comet, 
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 
Showed the Death-Dance of the 
spirits, 90 

Warriors with their plumes and 

war-clubs, 
Flaring far away to northward 
In the frosty nights of Winter ; 



Showed the broad white road in 

heaven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shad- 
ows, 
Running straight across the hea- 
vens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shad- 
ows. 
At the door on summer evenings 
Sat the little Hiawatha : 
Heard the whispering of the pine- 
trees, 100 
Heard the lapping of the waters, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder; 
' Minne-wawa ! ' said the pine-trees, 
' Mudway-aushka ! ' said the water. 
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of even- 
ing, 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he sang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught 
him: no 
' Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle, 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! ' 
Saw the moon rise from the 
water 
Rippling, rounding from tbe water, 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, 'What is that, No- 
komis?' 120 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
' Once a warrior, very angry, 
Seized his grandmother, and threw 

her 
Up into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he threw 

her; 
'T is her body that you see there,' . 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 
Whispered, ' What is that, Noko- 
mis?' 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
' 'T is the heaven of flowers you 
see there; 13? 



148 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie, 
When on earth they fade and 

perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above 
us.' 
"When he heard the owls at mid- 
night, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
'What is that?' he cried in ter- 
ror, 
' What is that,' he said, ' Noko- 
mis?' 139 

And the good Nokomis answered : 
' That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other.' 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their 

secrets, 
How they built their nests in Sum- 
mer, 
Where they hid themselves in 

Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he 

met them, 
Called them ' Hiawatha's Chick- 
ens.' 150 
Of all beasts he learned the lan- 
guage, 
Learned their names and all their 

secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges, 
Where the squirrels hid their 

acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met 

them, 
Called them 'Hiawatha's Bro- 
thers.' 
Then Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 160 
He the traveller and the talker, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Made a bow for Hiawatha ; 
From a branch of ash he made it, 
From an oak-bough made the ar- 
rows, 



Tipped with flint, and winged with 

feathers, 
And the cord he made of deer- 
skin. 
Then he said to Hiawatha : 
' Go, my son, into the forest, 
Where the red deer herd to- 
gether, 170 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a deer with antlers ! ' 
Forth into the forest straight- 
way 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and ar- 
rows ; 
And the birds sang round him, o'er 

him, 
' Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! ' 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
' Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! ' 180 
Up the oak-tree, close beside 
him, 
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
In and out among the branches, 
Coughed and chattered from the 

oak-tree, 
Laughed, and said between his 

laughing, 
' Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! ' 
And the rabbit from his path- 
way 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Half in fear and half in frolic, 190 
Saying to the little hunter, 
' Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! ' 
But he heeded not, nor heard 
them, 
For his thoughts were with the 

red deer ; 
On their tracks his eyes were fas- 
tened, 
Leading downward to the river, 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked 
he. 
Hidden in the alder-bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came, 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 201 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



149 



Saw two eyes look from the 

thicket, 
Saw two nostrils point to wind- 
ward, 
And a deer came down the path- 
way, 
Flecked with leafy light and 

shadow. 
And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above 

him, 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the path- 
way. 
Then, upon one knee uprising, 210 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
Scarce a twig moved with his mo- 
tion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rus- 
tled, 
But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with all his hoofs to- 
gether, 
Listened with one foot uplifted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung 
him ! 
Dead he lay there in the for- 
est, 
By the ford across the river ; 221 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and ex- 
ulted, 
As he bore the red deer home- 
ward, 
And Iagoo and Nokomis 
Hailed his coming with applauses. 
From the red deer's hide No- 
komis 
Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Noko- 
mis 230 
Made a banquet to his honor. 
All the village came and feastedj 
All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge- 

taha ! 
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go- 
taysee ! 



IV 

HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS 

Out of childhood into manhood 
Now had grown my Hiawatha, 
Skilled in all the craft of hunters, 
Learned in all the lore of old men, 
In all youthful sports and pas- 
times, 
In all manly arts and labors. 

Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot an arrow from 

him, 
And run forward with such fleet- 

ness, 
That the arrow fell behind him ! 10 
Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot ten arrows up- 
ward, 
Shoot them with such strength and 

swiftness, 
That the tenth had left the bow- 
string 
Ere the first to earth had fallen ! 
He had mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Magic mittens made of deer-skin ; 
When upon his hands he wore 

them, 
He could smite the rocks asunder, 
He could grind them into powder. 
He had moccasins enchanted, 21 
Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 
When he bound them found his 

ankles, 
When upon his feet he tied them, 
At each stride a mile he measured ! 
Much he questioned old Nokomis 
Of his father Mudjekeewis ; 
Learned from her the fatal secret 
Of the beauty of his mother, 
Of the falsehood of his father ; 30 
And his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 
Then he said to old Nokomis, 
' I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West- 
Wind, 
At the portals of the Sunset ! ' 
From his lodge went Hiawatha, 



150 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Dressed for travel, armed for 

hunting ; 
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leg- 
gings, 40 
Richly wrought with quills and 

wampum ; 
On his head his eagle-feathers, 
Round his waist his belt of wam- 
pum, 
In his hand his bow of ash-wood, 
Strung with sinews of the rein- 
deer ; 
In his quiver oaken arrows, 
Tipped with jasper, winged with 

feathers ; 
"With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 

"Warning said the old Nokomis, 
' Go not forth, O Hiawatha ! 51 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind, 
To the realms of Mudjekeewis, 
Lest he harm you with his magic, 
Lest he kill you with his cunning ! ' 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Heeded not her woman's warning ; 
Forth he strode into the forest, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Lurid seemed the sky above him, 
Lurid seemed the earth beneath 
him, 61 

Hot and close the air around him, 
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, 
As of burning woods and prairies, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 
So he journeyed westward, west- 
ward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him, 
Left the antelope and bison ; 
Crossed the rushing Esconaba, 70 
Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 
Passed the Mountains of the 

Prairie, 
Passed the land of Crows and 

Foxes, 
Passed the dwellings of the Black- 
feet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the kingdom of the West- 
Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 



Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 
At the aspect of his father. 81 

On the air about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy 

tresses, 
Gleamed like drifting snow his 

tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses. 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked on Hiawatha, 
Saw his youth rise up before him 
In the face of Hiawatha, 90 

Saw the beauty of Wenonah 
From the grave rise up before 
him. 
' Welcome ! ' said he, ' Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind ! 
Long have I been waiting for you! 
Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed, 
You bring back my youth of pas- 
sion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah ! ' 100 
Many days they talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, an- 
swered ; 
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage, 
His invulnerable body. 

Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting ; 
With a smile he sat and listened, 
Uttered neither threat nor men- 
ace, 1 1 1 
Neither word nor look betrayed 

him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 
Then he said, ' O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm 

you? 
Nothing that you are afraid of ? ' 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Grand and gracious in his boast- 
ing, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



151 



Answered, saying, ' There is no- 
thing, 120 
Nothing but the black rock yon- 
der, 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek ! ' 

And he looked at Hiawatha 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal, 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
Of his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, ' O my Hiawatha ! 
Is there anything can harm you? 
Anything you are afraid of ? ' 130 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Paused awhile, as if uncertain, . 
Held his peace, as if resolving, 
And then answered, ' There is no- 
thing, 
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, 
Nothing but the great Apukwa ! ' 

And as Mudjekeewis, rising, 
Stretched his hand to pluck the 

bulrush, 
Hiawatha cried in terror, 
Cried in well-dissembled terror, 140 
1 Kago ! kago ! do not touch it ! ' 
• Ah, kaween ! ' said Mudjekeewis, 
' No indeed, I will not touch it ! ' 
Then they talked of other mat- 
ters ; 
First of Hiawatha's brothers, 
First of Wabun,of the East- Wind, 
Of the South- Wind, Shawondasee, 
Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 
Of the beautiful Wenonah, 150 
Of her birth upon the meadow, 
Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he cried, ' O Mudjekeewis, 
It was you who killed Wenonah, 
Took her young life and her 

beauty, 
Broke the Lily of the Prairie, 
Trampled it beneath your foot- 
steps ; 
You confess it ! you confess it ! ' 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis 160 
Tossed upon the wind his tresses, 
Bowed his hoary head in anguish, 
With a silent nod assented. 



Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and 

gesture 
Laid his hand upon the black rock, 
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Kent the jutting crag asunder, 
Smote and crushed it into frag- 
ments, 170 
Hurled them madly at his father, 
The remorseful Mudjekeewis, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

But the ruler of the West- Wind 
Blew the fragments backward 

from him, 
With the breathing of his nostrils, 
With the tempest of his anger, 17S 
Blew them back at his assailant ; 
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, 
Dragged it with its roots and fibres 
From the margin of the meadow, 
From its ooze the giant bulrush ; 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! 
Then began the deadly conflict, 
Hand to hand among the moun- 
tains ; 
From his eyry screamed the eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Sat upon the crags around them, 
Wheeling flapped his wings above 
them. 1 90 

Like a tall tree in the tempest 
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; 
And in masses huge and heavy 
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tu- 
mult 
And confusion of the battle, 
And the air was full of shout- 
ings, 
And the thunder of the mountains, 
Starting, answered, ' Bairn- wawa ! ' 

Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 
Rushing westward o'er the moun- 
tains, 201 
Stumbling westward down the 

mountains, 
Three whole days retreated fight- 
ing, 
Still pursued by Hiawatha 



152 



THE ,SONG OF HIAWATHA 



To the doorways of the West- 
Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
Where into the empty spaces 
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 
Drops into her nest at nightfall 
In the melancholy marshes. 2 1 1 
' Hold ! ' at length cried Mudje- 
keewis, 
1 Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! 
'T is impossible to kill me, 
For you cannot kill the immortal. 
I have put you to this trial, 
But to know and prove your cour- 
age; 
Now receive the prize of valor ! 
' Go hack to your home and peo- 
ple, 
Live among them, toil among them, 
Cleanse the earth from all that 
harms it, 221 

Clear the fishing - grounds and 

rivers, 
Slay ail monsters and magicians, 
All the Wendigoes, the giants, 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, 
Slew the Great Bear of the moun- 
tains. 
4 And at last when Death draws 
near you, 228 

When the awful eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon you in the darkness, 
I will share my kingdom with you, 
Euler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keeway- 

din, 
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin.' 
Thus was fought that famous 
battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 
In the days long since departed, 
In the kingdom of the West- Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 239 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley ; 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 
Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 



Pleasant was the landscape >round 

him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him, 
From his brain the thought of ven- 
geance, 250 
From his heart the burning fever. 
Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted, 
Paused to purchase heads of ar- 
rows 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the Falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak- 
trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 
Made his arrow-heads of sand- 
stone, 261 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the 

edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and 
costly. 
With him dwelt his dark-eyed 
daughter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 
With her moods of shade and sun- 
shine, 
Eyes that smiled and frowned al- 
ternate, 
Feet as rapid as the river, 270 
Tresses flowing like the water, 
And as musical a laughter : 
And he named her from the river, 
From the water-fall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs ? 280 

Was it not to see the maiden, 
See the face of Laughing Water 
Peeping from behind the curtain, 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 
As one sees the Minnehaha 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



153 



Gleaming, glancing through the 

branches, 
As one hears the Laughing "Water 
From behind its screen of branches? 
Who shall say what thoughts 
and visions 2qo 

Fill the fiery brains of young men ? 
Who shall say what dreams of 

beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha ? 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sun- 
set, 
Was the meeting with his father, 
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis ; 
Not a word he said of arrows, 
Not a word of Laughing Water. 



HIAWATHA'S FASTING 

You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and fasted in the forest, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

First he built a lodge for fasting, 
Built a wigwam in the forest, 10 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
In the blithe and pleasant Spring- 
time, 
In the Moon of Leaves he built it, 
And, with dreams and visions 

many, 
Seven whole days and nights he 
fasted. 
On the first day of his fasting 
Through the leafy woods he wan- 
dered ; 
Saw the deer start from the thicket, 
Saw the rabbit in his burrow, 
Heard the pheasant, Bena, drum- 
ming, 20 
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Battling in his hoard of acorns, 
Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, 



Building nests among the pine- 
trees, 
And in flocks the wild - goose, 

Wawa, 
Flying to the fen-lands northward, 
Whirring, wailing far above him. 
' Master of Life ! ' he cried, de- 
sponding, . 
' Must our lives depend on these 
things ? ' 
On the next day of his fasting 30 
By the river's brink he wandered, 
Through the Muskoday, the 

meadow, 
Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, 
Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, 
And the strawberry, Odahmin, 
And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 
And the grape-vine, the Bemah- 

gut, 
Trailing o'er the alder-branches, 
Filling all the air with fragrance ! 
' Master of Life ! ' he cried, de- 
sponding, 40 
' Must our lives depend on these 
things ? ' 
On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 
By the still, transparent water ; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leap- 
ing, 
Scattering drops like beads of 

wampum, 
Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
And the herring, Okahahwis, 50 
And the Shawgashee, the craw- 
fish! 
' Master of Life ! ' he cried, de- 
sponding, 
' Must our lives depend on these 
things ? ' 
On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 
From his couch of leaves and 

branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids, 
Full of shadowy dreams and vis- 
ions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 



'54 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



On the gleaming of the water, 60 
On the splendor of the sunset. 
And he saw a youth approach- 
ing, 
Dressed in garments green and 

yellow, 
Coming through the purple twi- 
light, 
Through the splendor of the sun- 
set; 
Plumes of green Dent o'er his fore- 
head, 
And his hair was soft and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and compas- 
sion 70 
On his wasted form and features, 
And, in accents like the sighing 
Of the South- Wind in the tree-tops, 
Said he, ' O my Hiawatha ! 
All your prayers are heard in hea- 
ven, 
For you pray not like the others ; 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumph in the battle, 79 
Nor renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 
'From the Master of Life de- 
scending, 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct 

you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have 

prayed for. 
Kise up from your bed of branches, 
Eise, O youth, and wrestle with 
me !' 
Faint with famine, Hiawatha 90 
Started from his bed of branches. 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mon- 
damin ; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 



So they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, ioo 

And the more they strove and 

struggled, 
Stronger still grew Hiawatha ; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine- 

trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and fam- 
ine. 
' 'T is enough ! ' then said Mon- 
damin, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha, 
' But to-morrow, when the sun 
sets, no 

I will come again to try you.' 
And he vanished, and was seen 

not; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him. 
On the morrow and the next 
day, 120 

When the sun through heaven de- 
scending, 
Like a red and burning cinder 
From the hearth of the Great 

Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha ; 
Came as silent as the dew comes, 
From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it 
touches, 130 

But invisible to all men 
In its coming and its going. 
Thrice they wrestled there to- 
gether 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine- 
trees, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



55 



Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 
Tall and beautiful lie stood 
there, 140 

In his garments green and yellow ; 
To and fro his plumes above him 
Waved and nodded with his breath- 
ing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, ' O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with 

me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with 

me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees 

us, 
He will give to you the tri- 
umph!' 150 
Then he smiled, and said : ' To- 
morrow 
Is the last day of your conflict, 
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome 

me ; 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
"Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and 

warm me ; 
Strip these garments, green and 

yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from 

me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make 
it 160 

Soft and loose and light above me. 
4 Let no hand disturb my slum- 
ber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me, 
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine.' 

And thus saying, he departed ; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 170 
But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwill complain- 
ing, 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; 
Heard the rushing Sebowisha, 



Heard the rivulet rippling near 

him, 
Talking to the darksome forest ; 
Heard the sighing of the branches, 
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night-wind, 
Heard them, as one hears in slum- 
ber 180 
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whis- 
pers: 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha. 

On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his fasting, 
Came with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome 

him. 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 
But he tasted not, and touched 
not, 
Only said to her, ' Nokomis, 190 
Wait until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkness falls around us, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Crying from the desolate marshes, 
Tells us that the day is ended.' 
Homeward weeping went Noko- 
mis, 
Son-owing for her Hiawatha, 
Fearing lest his strength should 

fail him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 
He meanwhile sat weary wait- 
ing 200 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, pointing east- 
ward, 
Lengthened over field and forest, 
Till the sun dropped from the hea- 
ven, 
Floating on the waters westward, 
As a red leaf in the Autumn 
Falls and floats upon the water, 
Falls and sinks into its bosom. 
And behold ! the young Mon- 
damin, 
With his soft and shining 
tresses, 210 
With his garments green and yel- 
low, 
With his long and glossy plumage, 



r 5 6 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Stood and beckoned at the door- 
way. 
And as one in slumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted, 
From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Monda- 
min. 
Bound about him spun the land- 
scape, 
Sky and forest reeled together, 
And his strong heart leaped with- 
in him, 220 
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles 
In a net to break its meshes. 
Like a ring of fire around him 
Blazed and flared the red horizon, 
And a hundred suns seemed look- 
ing 
At the combat of the wrestlers. 

Suddenly upon the greensward 
All alone stood Hiawatha, 
Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle ; 230 
And before him breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishev- 
elled, 
Plumage torn, and garments tat- 
tered, 
Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha 
Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Mon- 

damin, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from 

him,. 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above 
him ; 240 

And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Prom the melancholy moorlands, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a cry of pain and anguish ! 

Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis, 
And the seven days of his fasting 
Were accomplished and complet- 
ed. 
But the place was not forgotten 
Where he wrestled with Monda- 
min ; 250 

Nor forgotten nor neglected 



Was the grave where lay Monda- 

min, 
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his scattered plumes and 

garments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine. 

Day by day did Hiawatha 
Go to wait and watch beside it ; 
Kept the dark mould soft above it, 
Kept it clean from weeds and in- 
sects, 
Drove away, with scoffs and shout- 
ings, 260 

Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. 
Till at length a small green 
feather 
From the earth shot slowly up- 
ward, 
Then another and another, 
And before the Summer ended 
Stood the maize in all its beauty, 
With its shining robes about it, 
And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, ' It is Mondamin \ 270 
Yes, the friend of man, Monda- 
min ! ' 
Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize 

was growing, 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food for- 
ever. 
And still later, when the Au- 
tumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to 
yellow, 280 

And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yel- 
low, 
Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from 

off them, 
As he once had stripped the wres- 
tler, 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



57 



VI 

HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 
Singled out from all the others, 
Bound to him in closest union, 
And to whom he gave the right 

hand 
Of his heart, in joy and sorrow ; 
Chibiahos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwa- 
sind. 
Straight between them ran the 
pathway, 
Never grew the grass upon it; 
Singing birds, that utter false- 
hoods, IO 
Story-tellers, mischief-makers, 
Found no eager ear to listen, 
Could not breed ill-will between 

them, 
For they kept each other's coun- 
sel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much con- 
triving 
How the tribes of men might pro- 
sper. 
Most beloved by Hiawatha 
"Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 20 
He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of willow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 
When he sang, the village lis- 
tened; 
All the warriors gathered round 

him, 
All the women came to hear him ; 
Now he stirred their souls to pas- 
sion, 
Now he melted them to pity. 30 
From the hollow reeds he fash- 
ioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow, 
That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the wood- 
land, 



That the wood-birds ceased from 

singing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 40 
Pausing, said, ' O Chibiabos, 
Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing ! ' 
Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Envious, said, ' O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and way- 
ward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy ! ' 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said. ' O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and ten- 
der, 50 
Teach me songs as full of glad- 
ness ! ' 
And the whippoorwill, Wawo- 
naissa, 
Sobbing, said, c O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as melancholy, 
Teach me songs as full of sad- 
ness ! ' 
All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his 

singing; 
All the hearts of men were soft- 
ened 
By the pathos of his music ; 
For he sang of peace and free- 
dom, 60 
Sang of beauty, love, and longing; 
Sang of death, and life undying 
In the Islands of the Blessed, 
In the kingdom of Ponemah, 
In the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers ; 
For his gentleness he loved him, 70 
And the magic of his singing. 

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
Was the very strong man, Kwa 

sind, 
He the strongest of all mortals, 
He the mightiest among many; 



^8 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



For his very strength he loved 
him, 

For his strength allied to goodness. 
Idle in his youth was Kwasind, 

Very listless, dull, and dreamy, 

Never played with other chil- 
dren, 80 

Never fished and never hunted, 

Not like other children was he ; 

But they saw that much he fasted, 

Much his Manito entreated, 

Much besought his Guardian 
Spirit. 
4 Lazy Kwasind ! ' said his mo- 
ther, 

' In my work you never help me ! 

In the Summer you are roaming 

Idly in the fields and forests ; 

In the Winter you are cowering go 

O'er the firebrands in the wigwam ! 

In the coldest days of Winter 

I must break the ice for fishing; 

With my nets you never help me ! 

At the door my nets are hanging, ■ 

Dripping, freezing with the water ; 

Go and wring them, Yenadizze ! 

Go and dry them in the sunshine ! ' 
Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind 

Eose, but made no angry an- 
swer; 100 

From the lodge went forth in 
silence, 

Took the nets, that hung together, 

Dripping, freezing at the doorway ; 

Like a wisp of straw he wrung 
them, 

Like a wisp of straw he broke 
them, 

Could not wring them without 
breaking, 

Such the strength was in his fin- 
gers. 
' Lazy Kwasind ! ' said his father, 

* In the hunt you never help me ; 

Every bow you touch is broken, 1 10 

Snapped asunder every arrow ; 

Yet come with me to the forest, 

You shall bring the hunting home- 
ward.' 
Down a narrow pass they wan- 
dered, 



Where a brooklet led them on- 

ward, 
Where the trail of deer and bison 
Marked the soft mud on the mar- 
gin, 
Till they found all further passage 
Shut against them, barred se- 
curely 
By the trunks of trees up. 
rooted, 120 

Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, 
And forbidding further passage. 
' We must go back,' said the old 
man, 
'O'er these logs we cannot clam- 
ber; 
Not a woodchuck could get 

through them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them ! ? 
And straightway his pipe he 

lighted, 
And sat down to smoke and pon- 
der. 
But before his pipe was finished, 
Lo ! the path was cleared before 
him ; 130 

All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, 
To the right hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 
' Lazy Kwasind ! ' said the young 
men, 
As they sported in the meadow: 
' Why stand idly looking at us, 
Leaning on the rock behind you ? 
Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit to- 
gether ! ' 140 
Lazy Kwasind made no answer, 
To their challenge made no an- 
swer, 
Only rose, and slowly turning, 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the air a moment, 
Pitched it sheer into the river, 
Sheer into the swift Pauwating, 
Where it still is seen in Summer. 
Once as down that foaming 
river, 150 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



*S9 



Kwasind sailed with his compan- 
ions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of Bea- 
vers, 
Struggling with the rushing cur- 
rents, 
Rising, sinking in the water. 
Without speaking, without paus- 
ing, 
Kwasind leaped into the river, 
Plunged beneath the bubbling sur- 
face, 
Through the whirlpools chased 
the beaver, 160 

Followed him among the islands, 
Stayed so long beneath the water, 
That his terrified companions 
Cried, ' Alas ! good-by to Kwasind ! 
We shall never more see Kwa- 
sind ! ' 
But he reappeared triumphant, 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and 

dripping, 
Brought the King of all the Bea- 
vers. 
And these two, as I have told 
you, 170 

Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwa- 
sind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much con- 
triving 
How the tribes of men might 
prosper. 



VII 

HIAWATHA'S SAILING 

^Give me of your bark, O Birch- 
tree ! 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree ! 
Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe will build me, 



Build a swift Cheemaun for sail- 
ing, 
That shall float upon the river, 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 
' Lay aside your cloak, O Birch- 
tree ! 10 
Lay aside your white - skin wrap- 
per, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrap- 
per!' 
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were sing- 
ing, 
And the sun, from sleep awak- 
ing, 20 
Started up and said, ' Behold me ! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold 
me ! ' 
And the tree with all its 
branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
' Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! ' 
With his knife the tree he gir- 
dled ; 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing out- 
ward ; 30 
Down the trunk, from top to bot- 
tom, 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 
With a wooden wedge he raised it, 
Stripped it from the trunk un- 
broken. 
* Give me of your boughs. Ce- 
dar! 
Of your strong and pliantbranches, 
My canoe to make more steady, 
Make more strong and firm be- 
neath me ! ' 
Through the summit of the Ce- 
dar 
Went a sound, a cry of horror, 40 
Went a murmur of resistance ; 



t6o 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



But it whispered, bending down- 
ward, 
' Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! ' 
Down he hewed the boughs of 
cedar, 
Shaped them straightway to a 

frame-work, 
Like two bows he formed and 

shaped them, 
Like two bended bows together. 
'Give me of your roots, O Tama- 
rack ! 
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree ! 
My canoe to bind together, 50 

So to bind the ends together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! ' 

And the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in the air of morning, 
Touched his forehead with its tas- 
sels, 
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, 
' Take them all, O Hiawatha ! ' 

From the earth he tore the fibres, 
Tore the tough roots of the Larch- 
tree, 60 
Closely sewed the bark together, 
Bound it closely to the frame-work. 
' Give me of your balm, O Fir- 
tree ! 
Of your balsam and your resin, 
So to close the seams together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! ' 
And the Fir-tree, tall and som- 
bre, 
Sobbed through all its robes of 

darkness, 
Battled like a shore with peb- 
bles, 70 
Answered wailing, answered weep- 
ing, 
' Take my balm, O Hiawatha ! ' 

And he took the tears of balsam, 
Took the resin of the Fir-tree, 
Smeared therewith each seam and 

fissure, 
Made each crevice safe from 
water. 
4 Give me of your quills, O Hedge- 
hog! 



All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedge- 
hog! 
I will make a necklace of them, 
Make a girdle for my beauty, 80 
And two stars to deck her bosom ! ' 
From a hollow tree the Hedge- 
hog 
With his sleepy eyes looked at 

him, 
Shot his shining quills, like arrows, 
Saying with a drowsy murmur, 
Through the tangle of his whis- 
kers, 
' Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! ' 
From the ground the quills he 
gathered, 
All the little shining arrows, 
Stained them red and blue and 
yellow, 9& 

With the juice of roots and ber t 

ries ; 
Into his canoe he wrought them, 
Bound its waist a shining girdle, 
Bound its bows a gleaming neck. 

lace, 
On its breast two stars resplen- 
dent. 
Thus the Birch Canoe was 
builded 
In the valley, by the river, 
In the bosom of the forest ; 
And the forest's life was in it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 100 
All the lightness of the birch-tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Baddies none had Hiawatha, 
Baddies none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served 

him, 
And his wishes served to guide 
him; no 

Swift or slow at will he glided, 
Veered to right or left at pleasure. 
Then he called aloud to Kwa- 
sind, 
To his friend, the strong man, 
Kwasind, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



161 



Saying, ' Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars.' 
Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water, 120 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and 

branches, 
With his hands he scooped the 

sand-bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle. 

And thus sailed my Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and 

windings, 
Sailed through all its deeps and 

shallows, 
While his friend, the strong man, 
Kwasind, 130 

Swam the deeps, the shallows 
waded. 
Up and down the river went 
they, 
In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand- 
bar, 
Dragged the dead trees from its 

channel, 
Made its passage safe and certain, 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the moun- 
tains, 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 140 



VIII 

HIAWATHA'S FISHING 

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 
On the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
With his fishing-line of cedar, 
Of the twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nah- 

ma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 



Through the clear, transparent 
water 
He could see the fishes swim- 
ming 10 

Far down in the depths below him ; 
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa. 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish f 
Like a spider on the bottom, 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stern sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 
In his plumes the breeze of morn- 
ing 
Played as in the hemlock 
branches ; 20 

On the bows, with tail erected, 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his fur the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; 
Through his gills he breathed the 

water, 
With his fins he fanned and win. 

nowed, 
With his tail he swept the sand- 
floor. 30 
There he lay in all his armor ; 
On each side a shield to guard 

him, 
Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and 

shoulders 
Plates of bone with spines project- 
ing ! 
Painted was he with his war- 
paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, 
Spots of brown and spots of sable : 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 40 
As above him Hiawatha 
In his birch canoe came sailing, 
With his fishing-line of cedar. 

4 Take my bait,' cried Hiawatha, 
Down into the depths beneath 

him, 
' Take my bait, Sturgeon, Nah- 
ma! 



1 62 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Come up from below the water, 
Let us see which is the stronger ! ' 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent 
water, 50 

Waited vainly for an answer, 
Long sat waiting for an answer, 
And repeating loud and louder, 
' Take my bait, O King of Fishes ! ' 
Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Fanning slowly in the water, 
Looking up at Hiawatha, 
Listening to his call and clamor, 
His unnecessary tumult, 
Till he wearied of the shouting; 60 
And he said to the Kenozha, 
To the pike, the Maskenozha, 
' Take the bait of this rude fel- 
low, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! ' 

In his fingers Hiawatha 
Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; 
As he drew it in, it tugged so 
That the birch canoe stood end- 
wise, 
Like a birch log in the water, 
"With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 70 
Perched and frisking on the sum- 
mit. 
Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
When he saw the fish rise upward, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to him, . 
And he shouted through the water, 
' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are but the pike, Kenozha, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! ' 80 
Eeeling downward to the bottom 
Sank the pike in great confusion, 
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
To the bream, with scales of crim- 
son, 
' Take the bait of this great 

boaster, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! ' 
Slowly upward, wavering, gleam- 
ing, 
Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
Seized the line of Hiawatha, 90 



Swung with all his weight upon it, 
Made a whirlpool in the water, 
Whirled the birch canoe in circles, 
Round and round in gurgling ed- 
dies, 
Till the circles in the water 
Reached the far-off sandy beaches, 
Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 
But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 100 
Lifting up his disk refulgent, 
Loud he shouted in derision, 
' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! ' 
Slowly downward, wavering, 
gleaming, 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, no 
Heard his challenge of defiance, 
The unnecessary tumult, 
Ringing far across the water. 
From the white sand of the bot- 
tom 
Up he rose with angry gesture, 
Quivering in each nerve and fibre, 
Clashing all his plates of armor, 
Gleaming bright with all his war- 
paint ; 
In his wrath he darted upward, 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swal- 
lowed 121 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rap- 
ids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder, 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 
And he smote it in his anger, 131 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and 
fibre, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



163 



Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered 

through it, 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his hirch canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 
In the turmoil and confusion, 141 
Forth he might he hurled and 

perish. 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gayly, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till t£e labor was completed. 
Then said Hiawatha to him, 
1 O my little friend, the squirrel, 
Bravely have you toiled to help me ; 
Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 150 
And the name which now he gives 

you; 
For hereafter and forever 
Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 
Tail -in -air the boys shall call 
you ! ' 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted land- 
ward 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 159 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles, 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 
Then he heard a clang and flap- 
ping, 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion, 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him, 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
Saw the glittering eyes of sea- 
gulls, 170 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, 
Gazing at him through the open- 
ing, 
Heard them saying to each other, 
1 'T is our brother, Hiawatha ! ' 
And he shouted from below 
them, 
Cried exulting from the caverns : 



' O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; 
Make the rifts a little larger, 
With your claws the openings 
widen, 180 

Set me free from this dark prison, 
And henceforward and forever 
Men shall speak of your achieve- 
ments, 
Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratch- 
ers ! ' 
And the wild and clamorous sea- 
gulls 
Toiled with beak and claws to- 
gether, 
Made the rifts and openings wider 
In the mighty ribs of Nahma, 189 
And from peril and from prison, 
From the body of the sturgeon, 
From the peril of the water, 
They released my Hiawatha. 
He was standing near his wig- 
wam, 
On the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
Called and beckoned to Nokomis, 
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Lying lifeless on the pebbles, 199 
With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 
1 1 have slain the Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain the King of Fishes ! ' said he ; 
' Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon 

him, 
Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea- 
gulls ; 
Drive them not away, Nokomis, 
They have saved me from great 

peril 
In the body of the sturgeon, 
Wait until their meal is ended, 
Till their craws are full with feast- 
ing, 209 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset, 
To their nests among the marshes : 
Then bring all your pots and ket- 
tles, 
And make oil for us in Winter.' 

And she waited till the sun set, 
Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, 
Rose above the tranquil water, 



1 64 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, 
From their banquet rose with 

clamor, 
And across the fiery sunset 219 
Winged their way to f ar-off islands, 
To their nests among the rushes. 

To his sleep went Hiawatha, 
And Nokomis to her labor, 
Toiling patient in the moonlight, 
Till the sun and moon changed 

places, 
Till the sky was red with sunrise, 
And Kayoshk, the hungry sea- 

gulls, 
Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning ban- 
quet. 
Three whole days and nights 
alternate 230 

Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, 
Till the waves washed through the 

rib-bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of Nahma. 



IX 

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL- 
FEATHER 

On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Of the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
O'er the water pointing westward, 
To the purple clouds of sunset. 

Fiercely the red sun descending 
Burned his way along the heavens, 
Set the sky on fire behind him, 9 
As war-parties, when retreating, 
Burn the prairies on their war- 
trail ; 
And the moon, the Night-sun, east- 
ward, 
Suddenly starting from his am- 
bush, 
Followed fast those bloody foot- 
prints, 



Followed in that fiery war-trail, 
With its glare upon his features. 
And Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with her finger westward. 
Spake these words to Hiawatha : 
'Yonder dwells the great Pearl- 
Feather, 20 
Megissogwon, the Magician, 
Manito of Wealth and Wampum, 
Guarded by his fiery serpents, 
Guarded by the black pitch- water. 
You can see his fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Coiling, playing in the watery 
You can see the black pitch-water 
Stretching far away beyond them, 
To the purple clouds of sunset! 30 
' He it was who slew my father, 
By his wicked wiles and cunning, 
When he from the moon de- 
scended, 
When he came on earth to seek 

me. 
He, the mightiest of Magicians, 
Sends the fever from the marshes, 
Sends the pestilential vapors, 
Sends the poisonous exhalations, 
Sends the white fog from the fen- 

lands, 

Sends disease and death among 

us! 40 

' Take your bow, O Hiawatha, 

Take your arrows, jasper-headed, 

Take your war-club, Puggawau- 

gun, 
And your mittens, Minjekahwun, 
And your birch canoe for sailing, 
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, 
So to smear its sides, that swiftly 
You may pass the black pitch- 
water ; 
Slay this merciless magician, 
Save the people from the fever 50 
That he breathes across the fen- 
lands, 
And avenge my father's murder ! ' 
Straightway then my Hiawatha 
Armed himself with all his war- 
gear, 
Launched his birch canoe for sail- 
ing; 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



[65 



With his palm its sides he patted, 
Said with glee, ' Cheemaun, my 

darling, 
O my Birch-canoe ! leap forward, 
Where you see the fiery serpents, 
Where you see the Mack pitch- 
water ! ' 60 
Forward leaped Cheemaun ex- 
ulting, 
And the noble Hiawatha 
Sang his war-song wild and woful, 
And above him the war-eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Master of all fowls with feathers, 
Screamed and hurtled through the 
heavens. 
Soon he reached the fiery ser- 
pents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Lying huge upon the water, 70 
Sparkling, rippling in the water, 
Lying coiled across the passage, 
With their blazing crests uplifted, 
Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, 
So that none could pass beyond 
them. 
But the fearless Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, and spake in this wise, 
' Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, 
Let me go upon my journey ! ' 
And they answered, hissing 
fiercely, 80 
With their fiery breath made an- 
swer : 
' Back, go back ! O Shaugodaya ! 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint- 
heart ! ' 
Then the angry Hiawatha 
Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, 
Shot them fast among the ser- 
pents ; 
Every twanging of the bow-string 
Was a war-cry and a death-cry, 
Every whizzing of an arrow go 
Was a death-song of Keflabeek. 
Weltering in the bloody water, 
Dead lay all the fiery serpents, 
And among them Hiawatha 
Harmless sailed, and cried exult- 
ing; 



'Onward, O Cheemaun, my dar- 
ling! 
Onward to the black pitch- water ! ' 
Then he took the oil of Nahma, 
And the bows and sides anointed, 
Smeared them well with oil, that 
swiftly 100 

He might pass the black pitch- 
water. 
All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags and leaves of 

lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moon- 
light, 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined. 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kin- 
dled, no 
In their weary night-encampments. 
All the air was white with moon- 
light, 
All the water black with shadow, 
And around him the Suggema, 
The mosquito, sang his war-song, 
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Waved their torches to mislead 

him; 
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, 
Thrust his head into the moon- 
light, 
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him. 
Sobbed and sank beneath the sur- 
face; 121 
And anon a thousand whistles, 
Answered over all the fen-lands, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Far off on the reedy margin, 
Heralded the hero's coming. 

Westward thus fared Hiawatha, 
Toward the realm of Megissog- 

won, 
Toward the land of the Pearl- 
Feather, 
Till the level moon stared at him, 
In his face stared pale and hag- 
gard, 131 
Till the sun was hot behind him. 
Till it burned upon his shoulders. 



i66 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And before him on the upland 
He could see the Shining Wigwam 
Of the Manito of "Wampum, 
Of the mightiest of Magicians. 
Then once more Cheemaun he 
patted, 
To his birch canoe said, ' Onward ! ' 
And it stirred in all its fibres, 140 
And with one great bound of tri- 
umph 
Leaped across the water-lilies, 
Leaped through tangled flags and 

rushes, 
And upon the beach beyond them 
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. 
Straight he took his bow of ash- 
tree, 
On the sand one end he rested, 
With his knee he pressed the mid- 
dle, 
Stretched the faithful bow-string 

tighter, 
Took an arrow, jasper-headed, 150 
Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, 
Sent it singing as a herald, 
As a bearer of his message, 
Of his challenge loud and lofty : 
'Come forth from your lodge, 

Pearl-Feather ! 
Hiawatha waits your coming ! ' 
Straightway from the Shining 
Wigwam 
Came the mighty Megissogwon, 
Tall of stature, broad of shoul- 
der, 
Dark and terrible in aspect, 160 
Clad from head to foot in wam- 
pum, 
Armed with all his warlike weap- 
ons, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Streaked with crimson, blue, and 

yellow, 
Crested with great eagle-feathers, 
Streaming upward, streaming out- 
ward. 
■ Well I know you, Hiawatha ! ' 
Cried he in a voice of thunder, 
In a tone of loud derision. 
' Hasten back, O Shaugodaya ! 170 
Hasten back among the women, 



Back to old Nokomis, Faintheart! 
I will slay you as you stand there, 
As of old I slew her father ! ' 

But my Hiawatha answered, 
Nothing daunted, fearing nothing: 
' Big words do not smite like war- 
clubs, 
Boastful breath is not a bow- 
string, 
Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, 
Deeds are better things than words 
are, 180 

Actions mightier than boastings ! ' 

Then began the greatest battle 
That the sun had ever looked on, 
That the war-birds ever witnessed. 
All a Summer's day it lasted, 
From the sunrise to the sunset ; 
For the shafts of Hiawatha 
Harmless hit the shirt of wam- 
pum, 
Harmless fell the blows he dealt it 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Harmless fell the heavy war- 
club; 191 
It could dash the rocks asunder, 
But it could not break the meshes 
Of that magic shirt of wampum. 

Till at sunset Hiawatha, 
Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, 
Wounded, weary, and desponding, 
With his mighty war-club broken, 
With his mittens torn and tattered, 
And three useless arrows only, 200 
Paused to rest beneath a pine- 
tree, 
From whose branches trailed the 

mosses, 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Moccasin- 
leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow. 
Suddenly from the boughs above 
him 
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker : 
' Aim youf arrows, Hiawatha, 
At the head of Megissogwon, 
Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 210 
At their roots the long black 

tresses ; 
There alone can he be wounded ! ' 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



167 



Winged with feathers, tipped 
with jasper, 
Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, 
Just as Megissogwon, stooping, 
Raised a heavy stone to throw it. 
Full upon the crown it struck him, 
At the roots of his long tresses, 
And he reeled and staggered for- 
ward, 
Plunging like a wounded bison, 220 
Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, 
When the snow is on the prairie. 
Swifter flew the second arrow, 
In the pathway of the other, 
Piercing deeper than the other, 
Wounding sorer than the other ; 
And the knees of Megissogwon 
Shook like windy reeds beneath 

him, 
Bent and trembled like the rushes. 

But the third and latest arrow 
Swiftest flew, and wounded sor- 
est, 231 
And the mighty Megissogwon 
Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, 
Saw the eyes of Death glare at 

him, 
Heard his voice call in the dark- 
ness ; 
At the feet of Hiawatha 
Lifeless lay the great Pearl- 
Feather, 
Lay the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then the grateful Hiawatha 
Called the Mama, the woodpecker, 
From his perch among the 
branches 241 

Of the melancholy pine-tree, 
And, in honor of his service, 
Stained with blood the tuft of 

feathers 
On the little head of Mama ; 
Even to this clay he wears it, 
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, 
As a symbol of his service. 
Then he stripped the shirt of 
wampum 
From the back of Megissogwon, 
As a trophy of the battle, 251 

As a signal of his conquest. 
On the shore he left the body, 



Half on land and half in water, 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water. 
And above him, wheeled and clam- 
ored 
The Keneu, the great war -eagle, 
Sailing round in narrower circles. 
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. 

From the wigwam Hiawatha 261 
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All his wealth of skins and wam- 
pum, 
Furs of bison and of beaver, 
Furs of sable and of ermine, 
Wampum belts and strings and 

pouches, 
Quivers wrought with beads of 

wampum, 
Filled with arrows, silver-headed. 
Homeward then he sailed exult- 
ing, 
Homeward through the black 
pitch-water, 270 

Homeward through the weltering 

serpents, 
With the trophies of the battle, 
With a shout and song of triumph. 
On the shore stood old Nokomis. 
On the shore stood Chibiabos, 
And the very strongman, Kwasind, 
Waiting for the hero's coming, 
Listening to his songs of triumph. 
And the people of the village 
Welcomed him with songs and 
dances, 280 

Made a joyous feast, and shouted : 
' Honor be to Hiawatha ! 
He has slain the great Pearl- 
Feather, 
Slain the mightiest of Magicians, 
Him, who sent the fiery fever, 
Sent the white fog from the fen- 
lands, 
Sent disease and death among us ! ' 

Ever dear to Hiawatha 
Was the memory of Mama ! 
And in token of his friendship, 290 
As a mark of his remembrance, 
He adorned and decked his pipe- 
stem 
With the crimson tuft of feathers, 



i68 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



"With the blood-red crest of Mama. 
But the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All the trophies of the battle, 
He divided with his people, 
Shared it equally among them. 



HIAWATHA'S WOOING 

1 As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman ; 
Though she bends him, she obeys 

him, 
Though she draws him, yet she 

follows ; 
Useless each without the other ! ' 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Much perplexed by various feel- 
ings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 10 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

' Wed a maiden of your people,' 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
'Go not eastward, go not west- 
ward, 
For a stranger, whom we know 

not! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moon- 
light 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! ' 
Thus dissuading spake Noko- 
mis, 21 

And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : ' Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! ' 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
'Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move to- 
gether, 32 
Feet that run on willing errands ! ' 



Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
' In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daugh- 
ter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, fire- 
light, 41 
Be the sunlight of my people ! ' 

Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
' Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may 
open ! ' 
Laughing answered Hiawatha : 
' For that reason, if no other, 51 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgot- 
ten, 
And old wounds be healed for- 
ever ! ' 
Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 60 
Through uninterrupted silence. 
With his moccasins of magic, 
At each stride a mile he mea- 
sured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before 

him, 
And his heart outran his foot- 
steps ; 
And he journeyed without rest- 
ing, 
Till he heard the cataract's laugh- 
ter, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence. 
' Pleasant is the sound ! ' he mur- 
mured, 70 
'Pleasant is the voice that calls 
me ! ' 
On the outskirts of the forests, ' 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



[69 



Twixt the shadow and the sun- 
shine, 

Herds of fallow deer were feed- 
ing, 

But they saw not Hiawatha ; 

To his how he whispered, 'Fail 
not!' 

To his arrow whispered, ' Swerve 
not ! ' 

Sent it singing on its errand, 

To the red heart of the roebuck ; 

Threw the deer across his shoul- 
der, 80 

And sped forward without paus- 
ing. 
At the doorway of his wigwam 

Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 

In the land of the Dacotahs, 

Making arrow-heads of jasper, 

Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 

At his side, in all her beauty, 

Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 

Sat his daughter, Laughing Wa- 
ter, 

Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 

Of the past the old man's thoughts 
were, 91 

And the maiden's of the future. 
He was thinking, as he sat 
there, 

Of the days when with such ar- 
rows 

He had struck the deer and bison, 

On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 

Shot the wild goose, flying south- 
ward, 

On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 

Thinking of the great war-parties, 

How they came to buy his ar- 
rows, 100 

Could not fight without his ar- 
rows. 

Ah, no more such noble warriors 

Could be found on earth as they 
were ! 

Now the men were all like wo- 
men, 

Only used their tongues for wea- 
pons! 
She was thinking of a hunter, 

From another tribe and country, 



Young and tall and very hand. 

some, 
Who one morning, in the Spring- 
time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, m 
Lingered long about the door- 
way, 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise 

him, <-^^^ 

Praise his courage and hTs~-wis- 

dom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 
Through their thoughts they 
heard a footstep, 120 

Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and fore- 
head, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 
Straight the ancient Arrow- 
maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
' Hiawatha, you are welcome ! ' 131 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoul- 
ders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of 

rushes, 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
' You are welcome, Hiawatha ! ' 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 
Made of deer-skins dressed and 
whitened, 140 

With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its cur- 
tains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter, 
Hardly touched his eagle-feathers, 
As he entered at the doorway. 



270 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Then uprose the Laughing Wa- 
ter, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
Brought forth food and set before 
them, 150 

Water brought them from the 

brooklet, 
Gave them food in earthen ves- 
sels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass- 
wood, 
Listened while the guest was 

speaking, 
Listened while her father an- 
swered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 160 
Who had nursed him in his child- 
hood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwa- 

sincl, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peace- 
ful. 
' After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and blood- 
shed, 
There is peace between the Ojib- 
ways 170 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs.' 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
1 That this peace may last forever, 
And our hands be clasped more 

closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! ' 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he an- 
swered, 181 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 



Fondly looked at Laughing Wa- 
ter, 
And made answer very gravely : 
' Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minne- 
haha ! ' 
And the lovely Laughing Wa- 
ter 
Seemed more lovely as she stood 

there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 190 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to 

say it, 
' I will follow you, my husband ! ' 
This was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 

From the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laughing Wa- 
ter ; 200 
Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the 

meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
' Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! ' 
And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 210 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and say- 
ing: 
'Thus it is our daughters leave 

us, 
Those we love, and those who love 

us! 
Just when they have learned to 

help us, 
When we are old and lean upon 

them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting fea- 
thers, 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the vil- 
lage, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 220 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



[71 



And she follows where he leads 

her, 
Leaving all things for the 
stranger ! ' 
Pleasant was the journey home- 
ward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very 

slowly, 
Though his pace he checked and 
slackened 229 

To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
, Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for 

her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hem- 
lock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the "pine- 
tree. 240 
All the travelling winds went 
with them, 
O'er the meadows, through the 

forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at 

them, 
Watched with sleepless eyes their 

slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the 

lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before 
them, 249 

Peering, peeping from his burrow, 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the 
lovers. 
Pleasant was the journey home- 
ward! 
All the birds sang loud and sweet- 
ly 



Songs of happiness and heart's- 

ease; 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
' Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you ! ' 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 259 
' Happy are you, Laughing Water, 
Having such a noble husband ! ' 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the 

branches, 
Saying to them, ' O my children, 
Love is sunshine, bate is shadow, 
Life is checkered shade and sun- 
shine, 
Kule by love. O Hiawatha ! ' 
From the sky the moon looked 
at them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splen- 
dors, 
Whispered to them, ' O my chil- 
dren, 270 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I follow; 
Kule by patience, Laughing Wa- 
ter ! ' 
Thus it was they journeyed 
homeward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, 

firelight, 
Brought the sunshine of his peo- 
ple, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 280 
Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



XI 

HIAWATHA'S WEDDING-FEAST 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Kee- 

wis, 
How the handsome Yenadizze 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding; 
How the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the sweetest of musicians. 



172 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Sang his songs of love and long- 
ing; 
How Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
Told his tales of strange adven- 
ture, 
That the feast might be more joy- 
ous, IO 
That the time might pass more 

gayly, 
And the guests be more contented. 
Sumptuous was the feast Noko- 
mis 
Made at Hiawatha's wedding; 
All the bowls were made of bass- 
wood, 
White and polished very smoothly, 
All the spoons of horn of bison, 
Black and polished very smoothly. 
She had sent through all the vil- 
lage 
Messengers with wands of willow, 
As a sign of invitation, 21 

As a token of the feasting ; 
And the wedding guests assem- 
bled, 
Clad in all their richest raiment, 
Robes of fur and belts of wampum, 
Splendid with their paint and 

plumage, 
Beautiful with beads and tassels. 
First they ate the sturgeon, 
Nahma, 
And the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Caught and cooked by old Noko- 
mis; 30 

Then on pemican they feasted, 
Pemican and buffalo marrow, 
Haunch of deer and hump of bison, 
Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, 
And the wild rice of the river. 
But the gracious Hiawatha, 
And the lovely Laughing Water, 
And the careful old Nokomis, 
Tasted not the food before them, 
Only waited on the others, 40 

Only served their guests in silence. 
And when all the guests had 
finished, 
Old Nokomis, brisk and busy, 
From an ample pouch of otter 



Filled the red-stone pipes for smok- 
ing 
With tobacco from the South- 
land, 
Mixed with bark of the red wil- 
low, 
And with herbs and leaves of fra- 
grance. 
Then she said, ' O Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Dance for us your merry dances, 
Dance the Beggar's Dance to 
please us, 51 

That the feast may be more joy- 

ous, 
That the time may pass more 

gayly, 
And our guests be more content- 
ed!' 
Then the handsome Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 
He the idle Yenadizze, 
He the merry mischief-maker, 
Whom the people called the Storm- 
Fool, 
Rose among the guests assembled. 
Skilled was he in sports and 
pastimes, 60 

In the merry dance of snow-shoes, 
In the play of quoits and ball-play ; 
Skilled was he in games of hazard, 
In all games of skill and hazard, 
Pugasaing, the Bowl and Count- 
ers, 
Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum- 
stones. 
Though the warriors called him 

Faint-Heart, 
Called him coward, Shaugodaya, 
Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, 
Little heeded he their jesting, 70 
Little cared he for their insults, , 
For the women and the maidens 
Loved the handsome Pau-Puk- 
Keewis. 
He was dressed in shirt of doe- 
skin, 
White and soft, and fringed with 

ermine, 
All inwrought with beads of wan> 
pum; 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



V3 



He was dressed in deer-skin leg- 
gings, 
Fringed with hedgehog qui lis and 

ermine, 
And in moccasins of buck-skin. 
Thick with quills and beads em- 
broidered. So 
On his head were plumes of swan's 

down, 
On his heels were tails of foxes, 
In one hand a fan of feathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 
Barred with streaks of red and 
yellow, 
Streaks of blue and bright ver- 
milion, 
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
From his forehead fell his tresses, 
Smooth, and parted like a wo- 
man's, 
Shining bright with oil, and 
plaited, QO 

Hung with braids of scented 

grasses, 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
To the sound of drums and voices, 
Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
And began his mystic dances. 
First he danced a solemn mea- 
sure, 
Very slow in step and gesture, 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sun- 
shine, IOO 
Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in cir- 
cles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assem- 
bled, 
Eddying round and round the wig- 
wam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with 

him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big-Sea- Water, no 
On he sped with frenzied gestures, 



Stamped upon the sand, and tossed 

it 
Wildly in the air around him ; 
Till the wind became a whirlwind, 
Till the sand was blown and sifted 
Like great snowdrifts o'er the 

landscape, 
Heaping all the shores with Sand 

Dunes, 
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo ! 
Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Danced his Beggar's Dance to 
please them, 120 

And, returning, sat down laughing- 
There among the guests assem- 
bled, 
Sat and fanned himself serenely 
With his fan of turkey-feathers. 
Then they said to Chibiabos, 
To the friend of Hiawatha, 
To the sweetest of all singers, 
To the best of all musicians, 
' Sing to us, O Chibiabos ! 
Songs of love and songs of long- 
ing, 130 
That the feast may be more joy- 
ous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more con- 
tented ! ' 
And the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang in accents sweet and tender, 
Sang in tones of deep emotion, 
Songs of love and songs of longing ; 
Looking still at Hiawatha, 138 
Looking at fair Laughing Water, 
Sang he softly, sang in this wise : 

' Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! 
Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! 
Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! 
Thou with eyes so soft and fawn- 
like ! 
' If thou only lookest at me, 
I am happy, I am happy, 
As the lilies of the prairie, 
When they feel the dew upon 
them! 
' Sweet thy breath is as the 
fragrance 149 

Of the wild-flowers in the morning, 
As their fragrance is at evening, 



174 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



In the Moon when leaves are fall- 
ing. 
'Does not all the blood within 
me 

Leap to meet thee, leap to meet 
thee, 

As the springs to meet the sun- 
shine, 

In the Moon when nights are 
brightest? 
' Onaway ! my heart sings to 
thee, 

Sings with joy when thou art near 
me, 

As the sighing, singing branches 

In the pleasant Moon of Straw- 
berries ! 160 
4 When thou art not pleased, be- 
loved, 

Then my heart is sad and dark- 
ened, 

As the shining river darkens 

"When the clouds drop shadows on 
it! 
' When thou smilest, my beloved, 

Then my troubled heart is bright- 
ened, 

As in sunshine gleam the ripples 

That the cold wind makes in riv- 
ers. 
' Smiles the earth, and smile the 
waters, • 

Smile the cloudless skies above 
us, 170 

But I lose the way of smiling 

When thou art no longer near me ! 
' I myself, myself ! behold me ! 

Blood of my beating heart, behold 
me! 

Oh awake, awake, beloved ! 

Onaway ! awake, beloved ! ' 
Thus the gentle Chibiabos 

Sang his song of love and long- 
ing; 

And Iagoo, the great boaster, 

He the marvellous story-teller, 180 

He the friend of old Nokomis, 

Jealous of the sweet musician, 

Jealous of the applause they gave 
him, 

Saw in all the eyes around him, 



Saw in all their looks and ges- 

tures, 
That the wedding guests assem- 
bled 
Longed to hear his pleasant sto- 
ries, 
His immeasurable falsehoods. 

Very boastful was Iagoo ; 
Never heard he an adventure 190 
But himself had met a greater ; 
Never any deed of daring 
But himself had done a bolder ; 
Never any marvellous story 
But himself could tell a stranger. 

Would you listen to his boasting, 
Would you only give him credence, 
No one ever shot an arrow 
Half so far and high as he had ; 
Ever caught so many fishes, 200 
Ever killed so many reindeer, 
Ever trapped so many beaver ! 
None could run so fast as he 
could, 
None could dive so deep as he 

could, 
None could swim so far as he 

could ; 
None had made so many journeys, 
None had seen so many wonders, 
As this wonderful Iagoo, 
As this marvellous story-teller ! 

Thus his name became a by-word 
And a jest among the people ; 211 
And whene'er a boastful hunter 
Praised his own address too 

highly, 
Or a warrior, home returning, 
Talked too much of his achieve- 
ments, 
All his hearers cried, ' Iagoo ! 
Here 's Iagoo come among us ! ' 

He it was who carved the cradle 
Of the little Hiawatha, 
Carved its framework out of lin- 
den, 220 
Bound it strong with reindeer 

sinews ; 
He it was who taught him later 
How to make his bows and arrows, 
How to make the bows of ash-trea 
And the arrows of the oak-tree. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



75 



So among the guests assembled 
At my Hiawatha's wedding 
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, 
Sat the marvellous story-teller. 

And they said, ' O good Iagoo, 
Tell us now a tale of wonder, 231 
Tell us of some strange adventure, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more 

gayly, 
And our guests be more con- 
tented ! ' 
And Iagoo answered straight- 
way, 
' You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
You shall hear the strange ad- 
ventures 
Of Osseo, the Magician, 239 

From the Evening Star descended.' 



XII 

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR 

Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water? 
Or the Ked Swan floating, flying, 
Wounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crim- 
son, 
With the crimson of its life-blood, 
Filling all the air with splendor, 
With the splendor of its plumage ? 

Yes ; it is the sun descending, 
Sinking down into the water ; 10 
All the sky is stained with purple, 
All the water flushed with crim- 
son ! 
No ; it is the Red Swan floating, 
Diving down beneath the water ; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 
With its blood the waves are red- 
dened ! 
Over it the Star of Evening 
Melts and trembles through the 

purple, 
Hangs suspended in the twilight. 
No ; it is a bead of wampum 20 
On the robes of the Great Spirit 
As he passes through the twilight, 



Walks in silence through the hea- 
vens. 
This with joy beheld Iagoo 
And he said in haste : ' Behold it ! 
See the sacred Star of Evening! 
You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! 
' Once, in days no more remem- 
bered, 30 
Ages nearer the beginning, 
When the heavens were closer to 

us, 
And the Gods were more familiar, 
In the North-land lived a hunter, 
With ten young and comely daugh- 
ters, 
Tall and lithe as wands of willow ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
She the wilful and the wayward, 
She the silent, dreamy maiden, 
Was the fairest of the sisters. 40 
' All these women married war- 
riors, 
Married brave and haughty hus- 
bands ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Laughed and flouted all her lov- 
ers, 
All her young and handsome 

suitors, 
And then married old Osseo, 
Old Osseo, poor and ugly, 
Broken with age and weak with 

coughing, 
Always coughing like a squirrel. 

' Ah, but beautiful within him 50 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening, Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom, 
All its beauty in his spirit, 
All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendor in his language ! 
' And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wam- 
pum, 60 
Handsome men with paint and 

feathers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 



176 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Followed her with jest and laugh- 
ter. 
But she said ; " I care not for you, 
Care not for your belts of wam- 
pum, 
Care not for your paint and 

feathers, 
Care not for your jests and laugh- 
ter; 
I am happy with Osseo ! " 

' Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of 
evening, 70 

Walked together the ten sisters, 
Walked together with their hus- 
bands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair Oweenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gayly, 
These two only walked in silence. 

' At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 81 
And they heard him murmur 

softly, 
" Ah, showain nemeshin, JSfosa ! 
Pity, pity me, my father ! " 

' " Listen ! " said the eldest sister, 
" He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by fall- 
ing ! » 89 
And they laughed till all the forest 
Eang with their unseemly laugh- 
ter. 
'On their pathway through the 
woodlands 
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, 
Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses, 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and 

hollow. 
And Osseo, when he saw it, 
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, 
Leaped into its yawning cavern, 
At one end went in an old man, 100 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ; 
From the other came a young man, 



Tall and straight and strong and 
handsome. 
4 Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and 

beauty ; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful ! 
Strangely, too, was she transfig- 
ured. 108 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Eang with their unseemly laugh- 
ter. 
' But Osseo turned not from her, 
Walked with slower step beside 

her, 
Took her hand, as brown and with- 
ered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoo- 

sha, 
Soothed her with soft words of 
kindness, 120 

Till they reached the lodge of 

feasting, 
Till they sat down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 
' Wrapt in visions, lost in dream- 
ing, 
At the banquet sat Osseo ; 
All were merry, all were happy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 130 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 
1 Then a voice was heard, a whis- 
per, 
Coming from the starry distance, 
Coming from the empty vastness, 
Low, and musical, and tender ; 
And the voice said : " O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 140 
Broken are the spells that bound 
you, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



177 



All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ; 
Come to me ; ascend, Osseo ! 
4 " Taste the food that stands he- 
fore you : 
It is blessed and enchanted, 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It will change yc^u to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all your ket- 
tles 
Shall be wood and clay no longer ; 
But the bowls be changed to wam- 
pum, 151 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of 

scarlet, 
Like the fire shall gleam and glim- 
mer. 
! " And the women shall no 
longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labor, 
But be changed to birds, and glis- 
ten 
With the beauty of the starlight, 
Painted with the dusky splendors 
Of the skies and clouds of even- 
ing!" 160 
' What Osseo heard as whispers, 
What as words he comprehended, 
Was but music to the others, 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afar off, 
Of the lonely Wawonaissa 
Singing in the darksome forest. 
' Then the lodge began to trem- 
ble, 
Straight began to shake and trem- 
ble, 
And they felt it rising, rising, 170 
Slowly through the air ascending, 
From the darkness of the tree-tops 
Forth into the dewy starlight, 
Till it passed the topmost branch- 
es; 
And behold ! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scar- 
let! 
And behold ! the earthen kettles 
All were changed to bowls of sil- 
ver ! 
And the roof-poles of the wigwam 



Were as glittering rods of sil- 
ver, 180 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 
' Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters, 
All the sisters and their husbands, 
Changed to birds of various plu- 
mage. 
Some were jays and some were 

magpies, 
Others thrushes, others black- 
birds ; 
And they hopped, and sang, and 

twittered, 
Perked and fluttered all their fea- 
thers, 190 
Strutted in their shining plumage, 
And their tails like fans unfolded. 

' Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Was not changed, but sat in si- 
lence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, 
Looking sadly at the others ; 
Till Osseo, gazing upward, 
Gave another cry of anguish, 
Such a cry as he had uttered 
By the oak-tree in the forest. 200 
' Then returned her youth and 
beauty, 
And her soiled and tattered gar- 
ments 
Were transformed to robes of er- 
mine, 
And her staff became a feather, 
Yes, a shining silver feather ! 
'And again the wigwam trem- 
bled, 
Swayed and rushed through airy 

currents, 
Through transparent cloud and 

vapor, 
And amid celestial splendors 
On the Evening Star alighted, 210 
As a snow-flake falls on snow- 
flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river, 
As the thistle-down on water. 
'Forth with cheerful words of 
welcome 
Came the father of Osseo, 



i 7 8 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



He with radiant locks of silver, 

He with eyes serene and tender. 

And he said : " My son, Osseo, 

Hang the cage of birds you bring 
there, 

Hang the cage with rods of sil- 
ver, 220 

And the birds with glistening fea- 
thers, 

At the doorway of my wigwam." 
' At the door he hung the bird- 



And they entered in and gladly 
Listened to Osseo's father, 
Euler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said : " O my Osseo ! 
I have had compassion on you, 
Given you back your youth and 

beauty, 
Into birds of various plumage 230 
Changed your sisters and their 

husbands ; 
Changed them thus because they 

mocked you 
In the figure of the old man, 
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 
Could not see your heart of pas- 
sion, 
Could not see your youth immor- 
tal; 
Only Oweenee, the faithful, 
Saw your naked heart and loved 
you. 
'"In the lodge that glimmers 
yonder, 
In the little star that twinkles 240 
Through the vapors, on the left 

hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an^old 

man. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on 

you, 
For the rays he darts around him 
Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses." 

' Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Even- 
ing 250 
Dwelt Osseo with his father ; 



Many years, in song and flutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage w th rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
With the beauty of his mother, 
With the courage of his father. 
' And the boy grew up and pro- 
spered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 260 
Made him little bows and arrows, 
Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy fea- 
thers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 
' Round and round they wheeled 
and darted, 
Filled the Evening Star with mu- 
sic, 
With their songs of joy and free- 
dom; 
Filled the Evening Star with splen- 
dor, 
With the fluttering of their plu- 
mage ; 270 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 
Bent his bow and shot an arrow, 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, 
And a bird, with shining feathers, 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 
'But, O wondrous transforma- 
tion ! 
'T was no bird he saw before him, 
'T was a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosom ! 
' When her blood fell on the 
planet, 280 
On the sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange en- 
chantment, 
And the youth, the fearless bow- 
man, 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty 

spaces, 
Downward through the clouds an<^ 

vapors, 
Till he rested on an island, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



179 



On an island, green and grassy, 290 
Yonder in the Big-Sea- Water. 

' After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining fea- 
thers, 
Fluttering, falling, wafted down- 
ward, 
Like the painted leaves of Au- 
tumn; 
And the lodge with poles of silver, 
With its roof like wings of beetles, 
Like the shining shards of beetles, 
By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island, 300 
Bringing back the good Osseo, 
Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 
' Then the birds, again transfig- 
ured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals, 
Took their shape, but not their 

stature ; 
They remained as Little People, 
Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wud- 

jies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shin- 
ing, 
Hand in hand they danced to- 
gether 310 
On the island's craggy headlands, 
On the sand-beach low and level. 
'Still their glittering lodge is 
seen there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy 

voices, 
Sees them dancing in the star- 
light ! ' 
When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was 

ended, 
Looking round upon his listen- 
ers, 320 
Solemnly Iagoo added : 
'There are great men, I have 

known such, 
Whom their people understand 

not, 
Whom they even make a jest of, 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 



From the story of Osseo 

Let us learn the fate of jesters ! ' 

All the wedding giiests delighted 
Listened to the marvellous story, 
Listened laughing and applaud- 
ing, 330 
And they whispered to each other : 
' Does he mean himself, I wonder? 
And are we the aunts and uncles ? ' 

Then again sang Chibiabos, 
Sang a song of love and longing, 
In those accents sweet and ten- 
der, 
In those tones of pensive sadness, 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
For her lover, her Algonquin. 

' When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 341 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

'Ah me! when I parted from 
him, 
Pound my neck he hung the wam- 
pum, 
As a pledge, the snow-white wam- 
pum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

' I will go with you, he whis- 
pered, 348 
Ah me ! to your native country ; 
Let me go with you, he whispered, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

' Far away, away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered, 
Ah me ! is my native country, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

' When I looked back to behold 
him, 
Where we parted, to behold him, 
After me he still was gazing, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

' By the tree he still was stand- 
ing, 360 
By the fallen tree was standing, 
That had dropped into the water, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

' When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, 



i8o 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Kee- 

wis, 
Such the story of lagoo, 370 

Such the songs of Chibiabos ; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended, 
And the wedding guests departed, 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
"With the night and Minnehaha. 



XIII 

BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS 

Sing, Song of Hiawatha, 
Of the happy days that followed, 
In the land of the O jib ways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful ! 
Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 
Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields ! 
Buried was the bloody hatchet, 
Buried was the dreadful war-club, 
Buried were all warlike weapons, 
And the war-cry was forgotten. 10 
There was peace among the na- 
tions ; 
Unmolested roved the hunters, 
Built the birch canoe for sailing, 
Caught the fish in lake and river, 
Shot the deer and trapped the 

beaver • 
Unmolested worked the women, 
Made their sugar from the maple, 
Gathered wild rice in the meadows, 
Dressed the skins of deer and 
beaver. 
All around the happy village 20 
Stood the maize-fields, green and 

shining, 
Waved the green plumes of Mon- 
damin, 
Waved his soft and sunny tresses, 
Filling all the land with plenty. 
'T was the women who in Spring- 
time 
Planted the broad fields and fruit- 
ful, 
Buried in the earth Mondamin ; 
"T was the women who in Autumn 
Stripped the yellow husks of har- 
vest, 



Stripped the garments from Mon- 
damin, 30 
Even as Hiawatha taught them. 
Once, when all the maize was 
planted, 
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, 
Spake and said to Minnehaha, 
To. his wife, the Laughing Water : 
' You shall bless to-night the corn- 
fields, 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
To protect them from destruction, 
Blast of mildew, blight of insect, 
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize- 
ear ! 41 
' In the night, when all is silence, 
In the night, when all is darkness, 
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepah- 

win, 
Shuts the doors of all the wig- 
wams, 
So that not an ear can hear you, 
So that not an eye can see you, 
Rise up from your bed in silence, 
Lay aside your garments wholly, 
Walk around the fields you 
planted, 50 

Round the borders of the corn- 
fields, 
Covered by your tresses only, 
Eobed with darkness as a gar- 
ment. 
'Thus the fields shall be more 
fruitful, 
And the passing of your footsteps 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
So that neither blight nor mildew, 
Neither burrowing worm nor in. 

sect, 
Shall pass o'er the magic circle ; 
Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, 60 
Nor the spider, Subbekashe, 
Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk- 

keena, 
Nor the mighty caterpillar, 
Way-muk-kwana, with the bear- 
skin, 
King of all the caterpillars ! ' 
On the tree-tops near the corn- 
fields 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



181 



Sat the hungry crows and ravens, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
"With his band of black marauders. 
And they laughed at Hiawatha, 70 
Till the tree - tops shook with 

laughter, 
With their melancholy laughter, 
At the words of Hiawatha. 
1 Hear him ! ' said they ; ' hear the 

Wise Man, 
Hear the plots of Hiawatha ! ' 
When the noiseless night de- 
scended 
Broad and dark o'er field and for- 
est, 
When the mournful Wawonaissa 
Sorrowing sang among the hem- 
locks, 79 
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shut the doors of all the wigwams, 
From her bed rose Laughing 

Water, 
Laid aside her garments wholly, 
And with darkness clothed and 

guarded, 
Unashamed and unaffrighted, 
Walked securely round the corn- 
fields, 
Drew the sacred, magic circle 
Of her footprints round the corn- 
fields. 
No one but the Midnight only 
Saw her beauty in the darkness, 
No one but the Wawonaissa 91 
Heard the panting of her bosom ; 
Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped 

her 
Closely in his sacred mantle, 
So that none might see her beauty, 
So that none might boast, ' I saw 
her!' 
On the morrow, as the day 
dawned, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Gathered all his black marauders, 
Crows and blackbirds, jays and 
ravens, 100 

Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, 
And descended, fast and fearless, 
On the fields of Hiawatha, 
On the grave of the Mondamin. 



'We will drag Mondamin,' said 
they, 
' From the grave where he is 

buried, 
Spite of all the magic circles 
Laughing Water draws around it, 
Spite of all the sacred footprints 
Minnehaha stamps upon it ! ' no 

But the wary Hiawatha, 
Ever thoughtful, careful, watch- 
ful, 
Had o'erheard the scornful laugh- 
ter 
When they mocked him from the 

tree-tops. 
' Kaw ! ' he said, ' my friends the 

ravens ! 
Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens ! 
I will teach you all a lesson 
That shall not be soon forgotten ! ' 
He had risen before the day- 
break, 
He had spread o'er all the corn- 
fields 120 
Snares to catch the black marau- 
ders, 
And was lying now in ambush 
In the neighboring grove of pine- 
trees, 
Waiting for the crows and black- 
birds, 
Waiting for the jays and ravens. 
Soon they came with caw and 
clamor, 
Rush of wings and cry of voices, 
To their work of devastation, 
Settling down upon the cornfields, 
Delving deep with beak and talon, 
For the body of Mondamin. 131 
And with all their craft and cun- 
ning, 
All their skill in wiles of warfare, 
They perceived no danger near 

them, 
Till their claws became entangled, 
Till they found themselves impris- 
oned 
In the snares of Hiawatha. 
From his place of ambush came 
he, 
Striding terrible among them, 



182 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And so awful was his aspect 140 
That the bravest quailed with ter- 
ror. 
Without mercy he destroyed them 
Right and left, by tens and twen- 
ties, 
And their wretched, lifeless bodies 
Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 
Round the consecrated cornfields, 
As a signal of bis vengeance, 
As a warning to marauders. 

Only Kahgahgee, the leader, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
He alone was spared among them 
As a hostage for his people. 152 
With his prisoner-string he bound 

him, 
Led him captive to his wigwam, 
Tied him fast with cords of elm- 
bark 
To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. 

1 Kahgahgee, my raven ! ' said he, 
' You the leader of the robbers, 
You the plotter of this mischief, 
The contriver of this outrage, 160 
I will keep you, I will hold you, 
As a hostage for your people, 
As a pledge of good behavior ! ' 

And he left him, grim and sulky, 
Sitting in the morning sunshine 
On the summit of the wigwam, 
Croaking fiercely his displeasure, 
Flapping his great sable pinions, 
Vainly struggling for his freedom, 
Vainly calling on his people ! 170 
Summer passed, and Shawonda- 
see 
Breathed his sighs o'er all the 

landscape, 
From the South-land sent his ar- 
dors, 
Wafted kisses warm and tender ; 
And the maize-field grew and rip- 
ened, 
Till it stood in all the splendor 
Of its garments green and yellow, 
Of its tassels and its plumage, 
And the maize-ears full and shin- 
ing 
Gleamed from bursting sheaths of 
verdure. 180 



Then Nokomis, the old woman, 
Spake, and said to Minnehaha : 
"Tis the Moon when leaves are 

falling; 
All the wild rice has been gath- 
ered, 
And the maize is ripe and ready ; 
Let us gather in the harvest, 
Let us wrestle with Mondamin, 
Strip him of his plumes and tas- 
sels, 
Of his garments green and yel- 
low!' 
And the merry Laughing Wa- 
ter 190 
Went rejoicing from the wigwam, 
With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, 
And they called the women round 

them, 
Called the young men and the 

maidens, 
To the harvest of the cornfields, 
To the husking of the maize-ear. 

On the border of the forest, 
Underneath the fragrant pine- 
trees, 
Sat the old men and the warriors 
Smoking in the pleasant shadow. 
In uninterrupted silence 201 

Looked they at the gamesome la- 
bor 
Of the young men and the women ; 
Listened to their noisy talking, 
To their laughter and their sing- 
ing, 
Heard them chattering like the 

magpies, 
Heard them laughing like the blue- 
lays, 
Heard them singing like the rob- 
ins. 
And whene'er some lucky maid- 
en 
Found a red ear in the husking, 210 
Found a maize-ear red as blood 

is, 
' Nushka ! ' cried they all together, 
' Nushka ! you shall have a sweet- 
heart, 
You shall have a handsome hus- 
band ! ' 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



i83 



' Ugh ! ' the old men all responded 
From their seats beneath the pine- 
trees. 
And whene'er a youth or maiden 
Found a crooked ear in husking, 
Found a maize-ear in the husk- 
ing 
Blighted, mildewed, or mis- 
shapen, 220 
Then they laughed and sang to- 
gether, 
Crept and limped about the corn- 
fields, 
Mimicked in their gait and ges- 
tures 
Some old man, bent almost double, 
Singing singly or together : 
• Wagemin, the thief of cornfields 1 
?aimosaid, who steals the maize- 
ear!' 
Till the cornfields rang with 
laughter, 
Till from Hiawatha's wigwam 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 230 
Screamed and quivered in his an- 
ger, 
And from all the neighboring tree- 
tops 
Cawed and croaked the black ma- 
rauders. 
' Ugh ! ' the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine- 
trees ! 



XIV 

PICTUKE-WRITING 

Ik those days said Hiawatha, 
* Lo ! how all things fade and per- 
ish! 
From the memory of the old men 
Pass away the great traditions, 
The achievements of the warriors, 
The adventures of the hunters, 
All the wisdom of the Medas, 
All the craft of the Wabenos, 
All the marvellous dreams and 

visions 
Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! 10 



1 Great men die and are forgot- 
ten, 
Wise men speak ; their words of 

wisdom 
Perish in the ears that hear them, 
Do not reach the generations 
That, as yet unborn, are waiting 
In the great, mysterious darkness 
Of the speechless days that shall 
be! 
'On the grave-posts of our fa- 
thers 
Are no signs, no figures painted ; 
Who are in those graves we know- 
not, 20 
Only know they are our fathers. 
Of what kith they are and kindred, 
From what old, ancestral Totem, 
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, 
They descended, this we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 

1 Face to face we speak together, 
But we cannot speak when absent, 
Cannot send our voices from us 
To the friends that dwell afar 
off; 30 

Cannot send a secret message, 
But the bearer learns our secret, 
May pervert it, may betray it, 
May reveal it unto others.' 

Tbus said Hiawatha, walking 
In the solitary forest, 
Pondering, musing in the forest, 
On the welfare of his people. 
From his pouch he took his col- 
ors, 
Took his paints of different col- 
ors, 40 
On the smooth bark of a birch- 
tree 
Painted many shapes and figures, 
Wonderful and mystic figures, 
And each figure had a meaning. 
Each some word or thought sug- 
gested. 
Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
He, the Master of Life, was painted 
As an egg, with points projecting 
To the four winds of the heavens. 
Everywhere is the Great Spirit, 50 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 



1 84 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Mitche Manito the Mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, 
As a serpent was depicted, 
As Kenabeek, the great serpent. 
Very crafty, very cunning, 
Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 
Life and Death he drew as cir- 
cles, 
Life was white, but Death was 
darkened ; 60 

Sun and moon and stars he painted, 
Man and beast, and fish and rep- 
tile, 
Forests, mountains, lakes, and 
rivers. 
For the earth he drew a straight 
line, 
For the sky a bow above it ; 
"White the space between for day- 
time, 
Filled with little stars for night- 
time; 
On the left a point for sunrise, 
On the right a point for sunset, 
On the top a point for noontide, 70 
And for rain and cloudy weather 
Waving lines descending from it. 
Footprints pointing towards a 
wigwam 
Were a sign of invitation, 
Were a sign of guests assembling ; 
Bloody hands with palms uplifted 
Were a symbol of destruction, 
Were a hostile sign and symbol. 
All these things did Hiawatha 
Show unto his wondering people, 80 
And interpreted their meaning, 
And he said : ' Behold, your grave- 
posts 
Have no mark, no sign, nor sym- 
bol, 
Oo and paint them all with figures ; 
Each one with its household sym- 
bol, 
With its own ancestral Totem ; 
So that those who follow after 
May distinguish them and know 
them.' 
And they painted on the grave- 



On the graves yet unforgotten, 90 
Each his own ancestral Totem, 
Each the symbol of his household ; 
Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, 
Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, 
Each inverted as a token 
That the owner was departed, 
That the chief who bore the sym- 
bol 
Lay beneath in dust and ashes. 
And the Jossakeeds, the Pro- 
phets, 
The Wabenos, the Magicians, 100 
And the Medicine-men. the Medas, 
Painted upon bark and deer-skin 
Figures for the songs they chanted, 
For each song a separate symbol, 
Figures mystical and awful, 
Figures strange and brightly col- 
ored ; 
And each figure had its meaning, 
Each some magic song suggested. 

The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Flashing light through all the hea- 
ven; no 
The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, 
With his bloody crest erected, 
Creeping, looking into heaven ; 
In the sky the sun, that listens, 
And the moon eclipsed and dying; 
Owl and eagle, crane and hen- 
hawk, 
And the cormorant, bird of magic ; 
Headless men, that walk the hea- 
vens, 
Bodies lying pierced with arrows, 
Bloody hands of death uplifted, 120 
Flags on graves, and great war- 
captains 
Grasping both the earth and hea- 
ven! 
Such as these the shapes they 
painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer- 
skin; 
Songs of war and songs of hunt- 
ing, 
Songs of medicine and of magic, 
All were written in these figures, 
For each figure had its meaning, 
Each its separate song recorded. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



185 



Nor forgotten was the Love- 
Song, 130 
The most subtle of all medicines, 
The most potent spell of magic, 
Dangerous more than war or hunt- 
ing! 
Thus the Love-Song was recorded, 
Symbol and interpretation. 

First a human figure standing, 
Painted in the brightest scarlet ; 
'T is the lover, the musician, 
And the meaning is, ' My painting 
Makes me powerful over othr 
ers.' 140 

Then the figure seated, singing, 
Playing on a drum of magic, 
And the interpretation, ' Listen ! 
,'Tis my voice you hear, my sing- 
ing!' 
Then the same red figure seated 
In the shelter of a wigwam, 
And the meaning of the symbol, 
' I will come and sit beside you 
In the mystery of my passion ! ' 
Then two figures, man and wo- 
man, 150 
Standing hand in hand together 
With their hands so clasped to- 
gether 
That they seemed in one united, 
And the words thus represented 
Are, ' I see your heart within you, 
And your cheeks are red with 
blushes ! ' 
Next the maiden on an island, 
In the centre of an island ; 
And the song this shape sug- 
gested 
Was, ' Though you were at a dis- 
tance, 160 
Were upon some far-off island, 
Such the spell I cast upon you, 
Such the magic power of passion, 
I could straightway draw you to 
me ! ' 
Then the figure of the maiden 
Sleeping, and the lover near her, 
Whispering to her in her slum- 
bers, 
Saying, ' Though you were far from 
me 



In the land of Sleep and Silence, 
Still the voice of love would reach 
you!' 170 

And the last of all the figures 
Was a heart within a circle, 
Drawn within a magic circle ; 
And the image had this meaning: 
' Naked lies your heart before me, 
To your naked heart I whisper ! ' 

Thus it was that Hiawatha, 
In his wisdom, taught the people 
Ail the mysteries of painting, 
All the art of Picture- Writing, 180 
On the smooth bark of the birch- 
tree, 
On the white skin of the reindeer, 
On the grave-posts of the village. " 



XV 

HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION 

In those days the Evil Spirits, 
All the Manitos of mischief, 
Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, 
And his love for Chibiabos, 
Jealous of their faithful friend- 
ship, 
And their noble words and ac- 
tions, 
Made at length a league against 

them, 
To molest them and destroy them. 

Hiawatha, wise and wary, 
Often said to Chibiabos, 10 

' O my brother ! do not leave me, 
Lest the Evil Spirits harm you ! ' 
Chibiabos, young and heedless, 
Laughing shook his coal - black 

tresses, 
Answered ever sweet and child- 
like, 
' Do not fear for me, O brother ! 
Harm and evil come not near 
me! ' 
Once when Peboan, the Winter, 
Koofed with ice the Big-Sea-Wa- 
ter, 
When the snow-flakes, whirling 
downward, 20 



i86 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Hissed among the withered oak- 
leaves, 
Changed the pine-trees into wig- 
wams, 
Covered all the earth with si- 
lence, — 
Armed with arrows, shod with 

snow-shoes, 
Heeding not his brother's warn- 
ing, 
Fearing not the Evil Spirits, 
Forth to hunt the deer with ant- 
lers 
All alone went Chibiabos. 
Right across the Big-Sea- Wa- 
ter 
Sprang with speed the deer before 
him. 30 

With the wind and snow he fol- 
lowed, 
O'er the treacherous ice he fol- 
lowed, 
Wild with all the fierce commo- 
tion 
And the rapture of the hunting. 
But beneath, the Evil Spirits 
Lay in ambush, waiting for him, 
Broke the treacherous ice beneath 

him, 
Dragged him downward to the bot- 
tom, 
Buried in the sand his body. 
Unktahee, the god of water, 40 
He the god of the Dacotahs, 
Drowned him in the deep abysses 
Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. 

From the headlands Hiawatha 
Sent forth such a wail of anguish, 
Such a fearful lamentation, 
That the bison paused to listen, 
And the wolves howled from the 

prairies, 
And the thunder in the distance 
Starting answered ' Baim-wawa ! ' 
Then his face with black he 
painted, 51 

With his robe his head he cov- 
ered, 
In his wigwam sat lamenting, 
Seven long weeks he sat lament- 
ing, 



Uttering still this moan of sor- 
row:— 
'He is dead, the sweet musi- 
cian ! 

He the sweetest of all singers ! 

He has gone from us forever, 

He has moved a little nearer 

To the Master of all music, 60 

To the Master of all singing ! 

O my brother, Chibiabos ! ' 
And the melancholy fir-trees 

Waved their dark green fans above 
him, 

Waved their purple cones above 
him, 

Sighing with him to console him, 

Mingling with his lamentation 

Their complaining, their lament- 
ing. 
Came the Spring, and all the 
forest 

Looked in vain for Chibiabos ; 70 

Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, 

Sighed the rushes in the meadow. 
From the tree-tops sang the blue- 
bird, 

Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 

4 Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 

He is dead, the sweet musician ! ' 
From the wigwam sang the 
robin, 

Sang the robin, the Opechee, 

' Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 

He is dead, the sweetest sing- 
er!' 
And at night through all the for- 
est 81 

Went the whippoorwill complain- 
ing, 

Wailing went the Wawonaissa, 

' Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 

He is dead, the sweet musician ! 

He the sweetest of all singers ! ' 
Then the Medicine - men, the 
Medas, 

The magicians, the Wabenos, 

And the Jossakeeds, the Pro- 
phets, 

Came to visit Hiawatha ; 90 

Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, 

To appease him, to console him, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



[87 



Walked in silent, grave proces- 
sion, 
Bearing each a pouch of healing, 
Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, 
Filled with magic roots and sim- 
ples, 
Filled with very potent medicines. 
When he heard their steps ap- 
proaching, 
Hiawatha ceased lamenting, 
Called no more on Chibiabos ; 100 
Naught he questioned, naught he 

answered, 
But his mournful head uncovered, 
From his face the mourning col- 
ors 
Washed he slowly and in silence, 
Slowly and in silence followed 
Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. 
There a magic drink they gave 
him, 
Made of Nahma-wusk, the spear- 
mint, 
And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, 
Boots of power, and herbs of heal- 
ing; no 
Beat their drums, and shook their 

rattles ; 
Chanted singly and in chorus, 
Mystic songs like these, they 
chanted. 
' I myself, myself ! behold me ! 
'Tis the great Gray Eagle talk- 
ing; 
Come, ye white crows, come and 

hear him ! 
The loud-speaking thunder helps 

me; 
All the unseen spirits help me ; 
I can hear their voices calling, 
All around the sky I hear them ! 
I can blow you strong, my bro- 
ther, 121 
I can heal you, Hiawatha ! ' 

' Hi-au-ha ! ' replied the chorus, 
'Way-ha-way i ' the mystic cho- 
rus. 
4 Friends of mine are all the ser- 
pents ! 
Hear me shake my skin of hen- 
hawk! 



Mahng, the white loon, I can kill 
him ; 

I can shoot your heart and kill it ! 

I can blow you strong, my bro- 
ther, 

I can heal you, Hiawatha ! ' 130 
' Hi-au-ha ! ' replied the chorus. 

' Way-ha-way ! ' the mystic chorus. 
' I myself, myself .' the prophet ! 

When I speak the wigwam trem- 
bles, 

Shakes the Sacred Lodge with ter- 
ror, 

Hands unseen begin to shake it ! 

When I walk, the sky I tread on 

Bends and makes a noise beneath 
me! 

I can blow you strong, my bro- 
ther ! 

Kise and speak, O Hiawatha ! ' 140 
4 Hi-au-ha ! ' replied the chorus, 

4 Way-ha-way ! ' the mystic chorus. 
Then they shook their medicine- 
pouches 

O'er the head of Hiawatha, 

Danced their medicine - dance 
around him ; 

And upstarting wild and haggard, 

Like a man from dreams awak* 
ened, 

He was healed of all his madness. 

As the clouds are swept from hea- 
ven, 

Straightway from his brain de- 
parted 150 

All his moody melancholy ; 

As the ice is swept from rivers, 

Straightway from his heart de- 
parted 

All his sorrow and affliction. 
Then they summoned Chibiabos 

From his grave beneath the wa- 
ters, 

From the sands of Gitche Gumee 

Summoned Hiawatha's brother. 

And so mighty was the magic 

Of that cry and invocation, 160 

That he heard it as he lay there 

Underneath the Big-Sea- Water ; 

From the sand he rose and lis- 
tened, 



i88 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Heard the music and the singing, 
Came, obedient to the summons, 
To the doorway of the wigwam, 
But to enter they forbade him. 
Through a chink a coal they gave 
him, 
Through the door a burning fire- 
brand ; 
Euler in the Land of Spirits, 170 
Ruler o'er the dead, they made 

him, 
Telling him a fire to kindle 
For all those that died thereaf- 
ter, 
Camp-fires for their night encamp- 
ments 
On their solitary journey 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter. 
From the village of his child- 
hood, 
From the homes of those who 

knew him, 
Passing silent through the for- 
est, 180 
Like a smoke-wreath wafted side- 
ways, 
Slowly vanished Chibiabos ! 
Where he passed, the branches 

moved not, 
Where he trod, the grasses bent 

not, 
And the fallen leaves of last year 
Made no sound beneath his foot- 
steps. 
Four whole days he journeyed 
onward 
Down the pathway of the dead 

men; 
On the dead - man's strawberry 

feasted, 
Crossed the melancholy river, 190 
On the swinging log he crossed it, 
Came unto the Lake of Silver, 
In the Stone Canoe was carried 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the land of ghosts and shad- 
ows. 
On that journey, moving "slowly, 
Many weary spirits saw he, 
Panting under heavy burdens, 



Laden with war-clubs, bows and 

arrows, 
Eobes of fur, and pots and ket- 
tles, 200 
And with food that friends had 

given 
For that solitary journey. 
'Ay! why do the living,' said 
they, 
' Lay such heavy burdens on us f 
Better were it to go naked, 
Better were it to go fasting, 
Than to bear such heavy burdens 
On our long and weary journey ! ' 

Forth then issued Hiawatha, 
Wandered eastward, wandered 
westward, 210 

Teaching men the use of simples 
And the antidotes for poisons, 
And the cure of all diseases. 
Thus was first made known to 

mortals 
All the mystery of Medamin, 
All the sacred art of healing. 



XVI 

PAU-PUK-KEEWIS 

You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Kee. 

wis, 
He, the handsome Yenadizze, 
Whom the people called the Storm- 
Fool, 
Vexed the village with disturb- 
ance ; 
You shall hear of all his mischief, 
And his flight from Hiawatha, 
And his wondrous transmigra- 
tions, 
And the end of his adventures. 

On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 10 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water 
Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Kee- 

wis. 
It was he who in his frenzy 
Whirled these drifting sands to- 
gether, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



189 



When, among the guests assem- 
bled, 
He so merrily and madly 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, 
Danced the Beggar's Dance to 
please them. 
Now, in search of new adven- 
tures, 20 
From his lodge went Pau-Puk- 

Keewis, 
Came with speed into the village, 
Found the young men all assem- 
bled 
In the lodge of old Iagoo, 
Listening to his monstrous stories, 
To his wonderful adventures. 

He was telling them the story 
Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, 
How he made a hole in heaven, 
How he climbed up into heaven, 30 
And let out the summer-weather, 
The perpetual, pleasant Summer ; 
How the Otter first essayed it ; 
How the Beaver, Lynx, and Bad- 
ger 
Tried in turn the great achieve- 
ment, 
From the summit of the mountain 
Smote their fists against the hea- 
vens, 
Smote against the sky their fore- 
heads, 
Cracked the sky, but could not 

break it ; 
How the Wolverine, uprising, 40 
Made him ready for the encounter, 
Bent his knees down, like a squir- 
rel, 
Drew his arms back, like a cricket. 
4 Once he leaped,' said old Ia- 
goo, 
'Once he leaped, and lo! above 

him 
Bent the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the waters rise beneath it ; 
Twice he leaped, and lo! above 

him 
Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the freshet is at highest ! 50 
Thrice he leaped, and lo! above 
him 



Broke the shattered sky asunder, 
And he disappeared within it, 
And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, 
With a bound went in behind 
him ! ' 
1 Hark you ! ' shouted Pau-Puk- 
Keewis 
As he entered at the doorway ; 
' I am tired of all this talking, 
Tired of old Iagoo's stories, 
Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. 60 
Here is something to amuse you, 
Better than this endless talking.' 
Then from out his pouch of wolf- 
skin 
Forth he drew, with solemn man- 
ner, 
All the game of Bowl and Coun- 
ters, 
Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 
White on one side were they 

painted, 
And vermilion on the other ; 
Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, 
Two Ininewug or wedge-men, 70 
One great war-club, Pugamaugun, 
And one slender fish, the Keego, 
Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, 
And three Sheshebwug or duck- 
lings. 
All were made of bone and painted, 
All except the Ozawabeeks ; 
These were brass, on one side 

■ burnished, 
And were black upon the other. 
In a wooden bowl he placed 
them, 79 

Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before 

him, 
Thus exclaiming and explaining : 
' Bed side up are all the pieces, 
And one great Kenabeek stand- 
ing 
On the bright side of a brass 

piece, 
On a burnished Ozawabeek ; 
Thirteen tens and eight are 
counted.' 
Then again he shook the pieces^ 
Shook and jostled them together, 



190 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Threw them on the ground before 
him, 90 

Still exclaiming and explaining : 

'White are both the great Kena- 
beeks, 

White the Ininewug, the wedge- 
men, 

Red are all the other pieces ; 

Five tens and an eight are 
counted. 
Thus he taught the game of 
hazard, 

Thus displayed it and explained 
it, 

Running through its various 
chances, 

Various changes, various mean- 
ings: 

Twenty curious eyes stared at 
him, 100 

Full of eagerness stared at him. 
' Many games,' said old Iagoo, 

1 Many games of skill and hazard 

Have I seen in different nations, 

Have I played in different coun- 
tries. 

He who plays with old Iagoo 

Must have very nimble fingers ; 

Though you think yourself so skil- 
ful, 

I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, 

I can even give you lessons 1 10 

In your game of Bowl and Count- 
ers ! ' 
So they sat and played together, 

All the old men and the young 
men. 

Played for dresses, weapons, wam- 
pum, 

Played till midnight, played till 
morning, 

Played until the Yenadizze, 

Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 

Of their treasures had despoiled 
them. 

Of the best of all their dresses, 

Shirts of deer-skin, robes of er- 
mine, 120 

Belts of wampum, crests of fea- 
thers, 



Warlike weapons, pipes and 

pouches. 
Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 
him. 
Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
' In my wigwam I am lonely, 
In my wanderings and adventures 
I have need of a companion, 
Fain would have a Meshinauwa, 
An attendant and pipe-bearer. 130 
I will venture all these winnings, 
All these garments heaped about 

me, 
All this wampum, all these fea- 
thers, 
On a single throw will venture 
All against the young man yon- 
der ! ' 
'Twas a youth of sixteen sum- 
mers, 
'T was a nephew of Iagoo ; 
Face-in-a-Mist, the people called 
him. 
As the fire burns in a pipe-head 
Dusky red beneath the ashes, 140 
So beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. 
' Ugh ! ' he answered very fiercely ; 
' Ugh ! ' they answered all and 
each one. 
Seized the wooden bowl the old 
man, 
Closely in his bony fingers 
Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, 
Shook it fiercely and with fury, 
Made the pieces ring together 
As he threw them down before 
him. 150 

Red were both the great Kena- 
beeks, 
Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men, 
Red the Sheshebwug, the duck- 
lings, 
Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, 
White alone the fish, the Keego ; 
Only five the pieces counted ! 
Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Kee. 
wis 
Shook the bowl and threw the 
pieces ; 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



191 



Lightly in the air he tossed them, 
And they fell about him scat- 
tered ; 160 
Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, 
Red and white the other pieces, 
And upright among the others 
One Ininewug was standing, 
Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Stood alone among the players, 
Saying, ' Five tens ! mine the game 
is!' 
Twenty eyes glared at him 
fiercely, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 

him, 
As he turned and left the wig- 
wam, 170 
followed by his Meshinauwa, 
By the nephew of Iagoo, 
By the tall and graceful stripling, 
Bearing in his arms the winnings, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of er- 
mine, 
Belts of wampum, pipes and weap- 
ons. 
* Carry them,' said Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Pointing with his fan of feathers, 
To my wigwam far to eastward, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo ! ' 
Hot and red with smoke and 
gambling 181 
"Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
As he came forth to the freshness 
Of the pleasant Summer morning. 
All the birds were singing gayly, 
All the streamlets flowing swiftly, 
And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sang with pleasure as the birds 

sing, 
Beat with triumph like the stream- 
lets, 
ks he wandered through the vil- 
lage, 190 
In the early gray of morning, 
With his fan of turkey-feathers, 
With his plumes and tufts of 

swan's down, 
Till he reached the farthest wig- 
wam, 
Reached the lodge of Hiawatha. 



Silent was it and deserted ; 
No one met him at the doorway, 
No one came to bid him welcome ; 
But the birds were singing round 

it, 
In and out and round the door- 
way, 200 
Hopping, singing, fluttering, feed- 
ing, 
And aloft upon the ridge-pole 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Sat with fiery eyes, and, scream- 
ing, 
Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk- 
Keewis. 
'AH are gone! the lodge is 
empty ! ' 
Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
In his heart resolving mischief ; — 
' Gone is wary Hiawatha, 
Gone the silly Laughing Water, 210 
Gone Nokomis, the old woman, 
And the lodge is left unguarded ! ' 
By the neck he seized the raven, 
Whirled it round him like a rat'tfe, 
Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, 
Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, 
From the ridge-pole of the wig- 
wam 
Left its lifeless body hanging, 
As an insult to its master, 
As a taunt to Hiawatha. 220 
With a stealthy step he entered, 
Round the lodge in wild disorder 
Threw the household things about 

him, 
Piled together in confusion 
Bowls of wood and earthen ket- 
tles, 
Robes of buffalo and beaver, 
Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, 
As an insult to Nokomis, 
As a taunt to Minnehaha. 
Then departed Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 230 
Whistling, singing through the for- 
est, 
Whistling gayly to the squirrels, 
Who from hollow boughs above 
him 



192 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Dropped their acorn-shells upon 
him, 

Singing gayly to the wood birds, 

Who from out the leafy darkness 

Answered with a song as merry. 
Then he climbed the rocky head- 
lands, 

Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, 

Perched himself upon their sum- 
mit, 240 

Waiting full of mirth and mischief 

The return of Hiawatha. 
Stretched upon his back he lay 
there ; 

Far below him plashed the waters, 

Plashed and washed the dreamy 
waters ; 

Far above him swam the heavens, 

Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens ; 

Round him hovered, fluttered, rus- 
tled 

Hiawatha's mountain chickens, 

Flock -wise swept and wheeled 
about him, 250 

Almost brushed him with their 
pinions. 
And he killed them as he lay 
there, 

Slaughtered them by tens and 
twenties, 

Threw their bodies down the head- 
land, 

Threw them on the beach below 
him, 

Till at length Kayoshk, the sea- 
gull, 

Perched upon a crag above them, 

Shouted : l It is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 

He is slaying us by hundreds ! 

Send a message to our brother, 260 

Tidings send to Hiawatha ! ' 



XVII 

THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK- 
KEEWIS 

Full of wrath was Hiawatha 
When he came into the village, 
Found the people in confusion, 



Heard of all the misdemeanors, 
All the malice and the mischief, 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
Hard his breath came through 

his nostrils, 
Through his teeth he buzzed and 

muttered 
Words of anger and resentment, 
Hot and humming, like a hor- 
net. IC 
' I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Slay this mischief-maker ! ' said he. 
' Not so long and wide the world 

is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
That my wrath shall not . attain 

him, 
That my vengeance shall not 

reach him ! ' 
Then in swift pursuit departed 
Hiawatha and the hunters 
On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Through the forest, where he 

passed it, 20 

To the headlands where he 

rested ; 
But they found not Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Only in the trampled grasses, 
In the whortleberry-bushes, 
Found the couch where he had 

rested, 
Found the impress of his body. 
From the lowlands far beneath 

them, 
From the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning back- 

ward, 
Made a gesture of defiance, 30 
Made a gesture of derision ; 
And aloud cried Hiawatha, 
From the summit of the moun 

tains : 
' Not so long and wide the world is 
Not so rude and rough the way is^ 
But my wrath shall overtake you 
And my vengeance shall attain 

you! ' 
Over rock and over river, 
Thorough bush, and brake, and foi> 

est, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



193 



Ran the cunning Pau - Puk - Kee- 
wis ; 40 

Like an antelope lie bounded, 
Till he came unto a streamlet 
In the middle of the forest, 
To a streamlet still and tranquil, 
That had overflowed its margin, 
To a dam made by the beavers, 
To a pond of quiet water, 
.Where knee-deep the trees were 

standing, 
Where the water-lilies floated, 
Where the rushes waved and 
whispered. 50 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
On the dam of trunks and 

branches, 
Through whose chinks the water 

spouted, 
O'er whose summit flowed the 

streamlet. 
From the bottom rose the beaver, 
Looked with two great eyes of 

wonder, 
Eyes that seemed to ask a ques- 
tion, 
At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis. 
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the stream- 
let, 60 
Flowed the bright and silvery 

water, 
And he spake unto the beaver, 
With a smile he spake in this 
wise: 
'O my friend Ahmeek, the 
beaver, 
Cool and pleasant is the water ; 
Let me dive into the water, 
Let me rest there in your lodges ; 
Change me, too, into a beaver ! ' 
Cautiously replied the beaver, 
With reserve he thus made an- 
swer : 70 
1 Let me first consult the others, 
Let me ask the other beavers.' 
Down he sank into the water, 
Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, 



Down among the leaves and 
branches, 

Brown and matted at the bottom. 
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 

O'er his ankles flowed the stream- 
let, 

Spouted through the chinks below 
him, 

Dashed upon the stones beneath 
him, 80 

Spread serene and calm before 
him, 

And the sunshine and the shadows 

Fell in flecks and gleams upon 
him, 

Fell in little shining patches, 

Through the waving, rustling 
branches. 
From the bottom rose the bea- 
vers, 

Silently above the surface 

Rose one head and then another, 

Till the pond seemed full of bea- 
vers, 

Full of black and shining faces. 90 
To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis 

Spake entreating, said in this wise » 

' Very pleasant is your dwelling, 

my friends ! and safe from dan 
ger; 

Can you not, with all your cunning. 

All your wisdom and contrivance, 

Change me, too, into a beaver ? ' 
' Yes ! ' replied Ahmeek, the bea- 
ver, 

He the King of all the beavers, 

'Let yourself slide down among 
US, 10a 

Down into the tranquil water.' 
Down into the pond among them 

Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 

Black became his shirt of deer- 
skin, 

Black his moccasins and leg- 
gings, 

In a broad black tail behind him 

Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; 

He was changed into a beaver. 
' Make me large,' said Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 



194 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



'Make me large and make me 
larger, no 

Larger than the other beavers.' 
' Yes,' the beaver chief responded, 
' When our lodge below you enter, 
In our wigwam we will make you 
Ten times larger than the others.' 
Thus into the clear, brown water 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
Found the bottom covered over 
With the trunks of trees and 

branches, 
Hoards of food against the win- 
ter, I20 
Piles and heaps against the fam- 
ine ; 
Found the lodge with arching 

doorway, 
Leading into spacious chambers. 
Here they made him large and 
larger, 
Made him largest of the beavers, 
Ten times larger than the others. 
4 You shall be our ruler,' said they ; 
' Chief and King of all the beavers.' 
But not long had Pau-Puk-Keer 
wis 
Sat in state among the beavers, 130 
When there came a voice of warn- 
ing 
From the watchman at his station 
In the water-flags and lilies, 
Saying, ' Here is Hiawatha! 
Hiawatha with his hunters ! ' 
Then they heard a cry above 
them, 
Heard a shouting and a tramping, 
Heard a crashing and a rushing, 
And the water round and o'er them 
Sank and sucked away in eddies, 
And they knew their dam was 
broken. 141 

On the lodge's roof the hunters 
Leaped, and broke it all asunder ; 
Streamed the sunshine through the 

crevice, 
Sprang the beavers through the 

doorway, 
Hid themselves in deeper water, 
In the channel of the streamlet ; 
But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis 



Could not pass beneath the door- 
way; 
He was puffed with pride and feed- 
ing, 150 
He was swollen like a bladder. 
Through the roof looked Hia- 
watha, 
Cried aloud, ' O Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
Vain are all your craft and cun- 
ning, 
Vain your manifold disguises ! 
Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis! ' 
With their clubs they beat and 

bruised him, 
Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Pounded him as maize is pounded, 
Till his skull was crushed to 
pieces. 160 

Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, 
Bore him home on poles and 

branches, 
Bore the body of the beaver ; 
But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, 
Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
And it fluttered, strove, and 
struggled, 
Waving hither, waving thither, 
As the curtains of a wigwam 
Struggle with their thongs of deer- 
skin, 170 
When the wintry wind is blow- 
ing; 
Till it drew itself together, 
Till it rose up from the body, 
Till it took the form and features 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Vanishing into the forest. 
But the wary Hiawatha 
Saw the figure ere it vanished, 
Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Glide into the soft blue shadow 180 
Of the pine-trees of the forest ; 
Toward the squares of white be- 
yond it, 
Toward an opening in the forest, 
Like a wind it rushed and panted, 
Bending all the boughs before it, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



195 



And behind it, as the rain comes, 
Came the steps of Hiawatha. 

To a lake with many islands 
Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Kee- 

wis, 
Where among the water-lilies 190 
Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing; 
Through the tufts of rushes float- 
ing, 
Steering through the reedy islands. 
Now their broad black beaks they 

lifted, 
Now they plunged beneath the 

water, 
Now they darkened in the shadow, 
Now they brightened in the sun- 

. shine. 
< 'Pishnekuh!' cried Pau-Puk- 

Keewis, 
' Pishnekuh ! my brothers ! ' said he, 
'Change me to a brant with plu- 
mage, 200 
With a shining neck and feathers, 
Make me large, and make me 

larger, 
Ten times larger than the others.' 
Straightway to a brant they 
changed him, 
With two huge and dusky pinions, 
With a bosom smooth and rounded, 
With a bill like two great paddles, 
Made him larger than the others, 
Ten times larger than the largest, 
Just as, shouting from the forest, 
On the shore stood Hiawatha. 211 
Up they rose with cry and 
clamor, 
With a whir and beat of pinions, 
Kose up from the reedy islands, 
From the water-flags and lilies. 
And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
'In your flying, look not down- 
ward, 
Take good heed and look not down- 
ward, 
Lest some strange mischance 

should happen, 
Lest some great mishap befall 
you ! ' 220 

Fast and far they fled to north- 
ward, 



Fast and far through mist and 

sunshine, 
Fed among the moors and fen- 
lands, 
Slept among the reeds and rushes. 
On the morrow as they jour- 
neyed, 
Buoyed and lifted by the South- 
wind, 
Wafted onward by the South-wind, 
Blowing fresh and strong behind 

them, 
Eose a sound of human voices, 229 
Kose a clamor from beneath them, 
From the lodges of a village, 
From the people miles beneath 
them. 
For the people of the village 
Saw the flock of brant with won- 
der, 
Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Flapping far up in the ether, 
Broader than two doorway cur- 
tains. 
Pau - Puk - Keewis heard the 
shouting, 
Knew the voice of Hiawatha, 
Knew the outcry of Iagoo, 240 
And, forgetful of the warning, 
Drew his neck in, and looked 

downward, 
And the wind that blew behind 

him 
Caught his mighty fan of feathers, 
Sent him wheeling, whirling down- 
ward ! 
All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Struggle to regain his balance ! 
Whirling round and round and 

downward, 
He beheld in turn the village 249 
And in turn the flock above him, 
Saw the village coming nearer, 
And the flock receding farther, 
Heard the voices growing louder, 
Heard the shouting and the laugh- 
ter; 
Saw no more the flocks above him, 
Only saw the earth beneath him ; 
Dead out of the empty heaven, 
Dead among the shouting people.. 



196 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



With a heavy sound and sullen, 
Fell the brant with broken pin- 
ions. 260 
But his soul, his ghost, his 
shadow, 
Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Took again the form and features 
Of the handsome Yenadizze, 
And again went rushing onward, 
Followed fast by Hiawatha, 
Crying : ' Not so wide the world is, 
Not so long and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
But my vengeance shall attain 
you!' 270 
And so near he came, so near 
him, 
That his hand was stretched to 

seize him, 
His right hand to seize and hold 

him, 
"When the cunning Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis 
Whirled and spun about in circles, 
Fanned the air into a whirlwind, 
Danced the dust and leaves about 

him, 
And amid the whirling eddies 
Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, 279 
Changed himself into a serpent, 
Gliding out through root and rub- 
bish. 
With his right hand Hiawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, 
Rent it into shreds and splinters, 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 288 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind. 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big-Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Eocks of sand- 
stone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 
And the Old Man of the Moun- 
tain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways, 
Opened wide his deep abysses, 



Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
In his caverns dark and dreary, 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 
To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. 
There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closed against 
him, 304 

With his mittens, Min jekahwun, 
Smote great caverns in the sand- 
stone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder, 
' Open ! I am Hiawatha ! ' 
But the Old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer 
From the silent crags of sand- 
stone, 311 
From the gloomy rock abysses. 
Then he raised his hands to 
heaven, 
Called imploring on the tempest, 
Called Waywassimo, the lightning, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and 

darkness, 
Sweeping down the Big-Sea- Water 
From the distant Thunder Moun- 
tains ; 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis 320 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder, 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and 
trembled. 
Then Waywassimo, the light- 
ning, 
Smote the doorways of the cav- 
erns, 
With his war-club smote the door- 
ways, 
Smote the jutting crags of sand- 
stone, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee. 
Shouted down into the caverns, 
Saying, 'Where is Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis!' 330 
And the crags fell, and beneath 

them 
Dead among the rocky ruins 
Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Lay the handsome Yenadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



197 



Ended were his wild adventures, 
Ended were his tricks and gam- 
bols, 
Ended all his craft and cunning, 
Ended all his mischief-making, 339 
All his gambling and his dancing, 
All his wooing of the maidens. 

Then the noble Hiawatha 
Took his soul, his ghost, his 

shadow, 
Spake and said : ' O Pau-Puk-Kee- 

wis, 
Never more in human figure 
Shall you search for new adven- 
tures ; 
Never more with jest and laughter 
Dance the dust and leaves in whirl- 
winds ; 
But above there in the heavens 
You shall soar and sail in cir- 
cles ; 350 
I will change you to an eagle, 
To Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Chief of all the fowls with fea- 
thers, 
Chief of Hiawatha's chickens.' 
And the name of Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis 
Lingers still among the people, 
Lingers still among the singers, 
And among the story-tellers ; 
And in Winter, when the snow- 
flakes 
Whirl in eddies round the 
lodges, 360 
When the wind in gusty tumult 
O'er the smoke-flue pipes and 

whistles, 
' There,' they cry, ' comes Pau-Puk- 

Keewis ; 
He is dancing through the village, 
He is gathering in his harvest ! ' 



XVIII 

THE DEATH OF KWASIND 

Fak and wide among the nations 
Spread the name and fame of 
Kwasind : 



No man dared to strive with 

Kwasind, 
No man could compete with Kwa- 
sind. 
But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, 
They the envious Little People, 
They the fairies and the pygmies, 
Plotted and conspired against 
him. 
' If this hateful Kwasind,' said 
they, 
' If this great, outrageous fellow 10 
Goes on thus a little longer, 
Tearing everything he touches. 
Rending everything to pieces, 
Filling all the world with won- 
der, 
What becomes of the Puk-Wud- 
jies ? 
Who will care for the Puk-Wud- 
jies ? 
He will tread us down like mush- 
rooms, 
Drive us all into the water, 
Give our bodies to be eaten 
By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, 
By the Spirits of the water ! ' 21 

So the angry Little People 
All conspired against the Strong 

Man, 
All conspired to murder Kwasind, 
Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, 
The audacious, overbearing, 
Heartless, haughty, dangerous 
Kwasind ! 
Now this wondrous strength of 
Kwasind 
In his crown alone was seated ; 
In his crown too was his weak- 
ness ; 30 
There alone could he be wounded, 
Nowhere else could weapon pierce 

him, 
Nowhere else could weapon harm 
him. 
Even there the only weapon 
That could wound him, that could 

slay him, 
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 
Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. 
This was Kwasind's fatal secret. 



198 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Known to no man among mortals -, 
But the cunning Little People, 40 
The Puk-Wudjies, knew the se- 
cret, 
Knew the only way to kill him. 

So they gathered cones together, 
Gathered seed-cones of the pine- 
tree, 
Gathered hlue cones of the fir- 
tree, 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the river's mar- 
gin, 
Heaped them in great piles to- 
gether, 
Where the red rocks from the 

margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 50 

There they lay in wait for Kwa- 

sind, 
The malicious Little People. 

'T was an afternoon in Summer ; 
Very hot and still the air was, 
Very smooth the gliding river, 
Motionless the sleeping shadows : 
Insects glistened in the sunshine, 
Insects skated on the water, 
Filled the drowsy air with buzz- 
ing, 
With a far resounding war-cry. 60 
Down the river came the Strong 
Man, 
In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 
Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, 
Very languid with the weather, 
Very sleepy with the silence. 

From the overhanging branches, 
From the tassels of the birch-trees, 
Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended ; 
By his airy hosts surrounded, 70 
His invisible attendants, 
Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepah- 

win ; 
Like a burnished Dush-kwo-ne- 

she, 
Like a dragon-fly, he hovered 
O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 
To his ear there came a mur- 
mur 
As of waves upon a sea-shore, 



As of far-off tumbling waters, 
As of winds among the pine- 
trees ; 
And he felt upon his forehead 80 
Blows of little airy war-clubs, 
Wielded by the slumbrous le« 

gions 
Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
As of some one breathing on him. 
At the first blow of their war- 
clubs, 
Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind ; 
At the second blow they smote 

him, 
Motionless his paddle rested ; 
At the third, before his vision 
Peeled the landscape into dark- 
ness, go 
Very sound asleep was Kwasind. 

So he floated down the river, 
Like a blind man seated upright, 
Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
Underneath the trembling birch- 

trees, 
Underneath the wooded head- 
lands, 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies. 
There they stood, all armed and 
waiting, 
Hurled the pine-cones down upon 
him, 100 

Struck him on his brawny shoul- 
ders, 
On his crown defenceless struck 

him. 
' Death to Kwasind ! ' was the sud- 
den 
War-cry of the Little People. 
And he sideways swayed and 
tumbled, 
Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish wa 

ter 
Headlong, as an otter plunges ; 
And tbe birch canoe, abandoned, 
Drifted. empty down the river, no 
Bottom upward swerved and 

drifted : 
Nothing more was seen of Kwa- 
sind. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



But the memory of the Strong 
Man 

Lingered long among the people, 

And whenever through the forest 

Raged and roared the wintry tem- 
pest, 

And the branches, tossed and 
troubled, 

Creaked and groaned and split 
asunder, 

' Kwasind ! ' cried they ; ' that is 
Kwasind ! 

He is gathering in his fire 
wood!' i2< 



XIX 

THE GHOSTS 

Never stoops the soaring vulture 
On his quarry in the desert, 
On the sick or wounded bison, 
But another vulture, watching 
From his high aerial look-out, 
Sees the downward plunge, and 

follows ; 
And a third pursues the second, 
Coming from the invisible ether, 
First a speck, and then a vulture, 
Till the air is dark with pinions. 10 

So disasters come not singly ; 
But as if they watched and waited, 
Scanning one another's motions, 
When the first descends, the others 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim, sick and 

wounded, 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
Till the air is dark with anguish. 
Now, o'er all the dreary North- 
land, 
Mighty Peboan, the Winter, 20 
Breathing on the lakes and rivers, 
Into stone had changed their wa- 
ters. 
From his hair he shook the snow- 
flakes, 
Till the plains were strewn with 

whiteness, 
One uninterrupted level, 



As if, stooping, the Creator 
With his hand had smoothed them 
over. 
Through the forest, wide and 
wailing, 
Roamed the hunter on his snow- 
shoes ; 
In the village worked the wo- 
men, 30 
Pounded maize, or dressed the 

deer-skin ; 
And the young men played to- 

gether 
On the ice the noisy ball-play, 
On the plain the dance of snow- 
shoes. 
One dark evening, after sun- 
down, 
In her wigwam Laughing Water 
Sat with old Nokomis, waiting 
For the steps of Hiawatha 
Homeward from the hunt return- 
ing. 
On their faces gleamed the fire- 
light, 40 
Painting them with streaks of 

crimson, 
In the eyes of old Nokomis 
Glimmered like the watery moon- 
light, 
In the eyes of Laughing Water 
Glistened like the sun in water ; 
And .behind them crouched their 

shadows 
In the corners of the wigwam, 
And the smoke in wreaths above 

them 
Climbed and crowded through the 
smoke-flue. 
Then the curtain of the door- 
way 50 
From without was slowly lifted ; 
Brighter glowed the fire a moment. 
And a moment swerved the smoke- 

wreath 
As two women entered softly. 
Passed the doorway uninvited, 
Without word of salutation, 
Without sign of recognition, 
Sat down in the farthest corner, 
Crouching low among the shadows. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



From their aspect and their gar- 
ments, 60 
Strangers seemed they in the vil- 
lage ; 
Very pale and haggard were they, 
As they sat there sad and silent, 
Trembling, cowering with the shad- 
ows. 
Was it the wind above the smoke- 
flue, 
Muttering down into the wigwam ? 
"Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, 
Hooting from the dismal forest ? 
Sure a voice said in the silence : 
' These az*e corpses clad in gar- 
ments, 70 
These are ghosts that come to 

haunt you, 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter ! ' 
Homeward now came Hiawatha 
From his hunting in the forest, 
With the snow upon his tresses, 
And the red deer on his shoulders. 
At the feet of Laughing Water 
Down he threw his lifeless bur- 
den; 
Nobler, handsomer she thought 
him, 80 

Than when first he came to woo 

her, 
First threw down the deer before 

her, 
As a token of his wishes, 
As a promise of the future. 
Then he turned and saw the 
strangers, 
Cowering, crouching with the 

shadows ; 
Said within himself, 'Who are 

they ? 
What strange guests has Minne- 
haha ? ' 
But he questioned not the stran- 
gers, 89 
Only spake to bid them welcome 
To his lodge, his food, his fire- 
side. 
When the evening meal was 
ready, 
And the deer had been divided, 



Both the pallid guests, the stran- 
gers, 
Springing from among the shad- 
ows, 
Seized upon the choicest portions, 
Seized the white fat of the roe- 
buck, 
Set apart for Laughing Water, 
For the wife of Hiawatha ; 
Without asking, without thank- 
ing, 100 
Eagerly devoured the morsels, 
Flitted back among the shadows 
In the corner of the wigwam. 

Not a word spake Hiawatha, 
Not a motion made Nokomis, 
Not a gesture Laughing Water ; 
Not a change came o'er their fea- 
tures ; 
Only Minnehaha softly 
Whispered, saying, ' They are fam- 
ished ; 
Let them do what best delights 
them; no 

Let them eat, for they are fam- 
ished.' 
Many a daylight dawned and 
darkened, 
Many a night shook off the day- 
light 
As the pine shakes off the snow- 
flakes 
From the midnight of its branches ; 
Day by day the guests unmoving 
Sat there silent in the wigwam ; 
But by night, in storm or starlight, 
Forth they went into the forest, 
Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam, 
Bringing pine-cones for the burn- 
ing, 121 
Always sad and always silent. 

And whenever Hiawatha 
Came from fishing or from hunting, 
When the evening meal was ready, 
And the food had been divided, 
Gliding from their darksome cor- 
ner, 
Came the pallid guests, the stran- 
gers, 
Seized upon the choicest portions 
Set aside for Laughing Water, 130 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



And without rebuke or question 
Flitted back among the shadows. 

Never once had Hiawatha 
By a word or look reproved them ; 
Never once had old Nokomis 
Made a gesture of impatience ; 
Never once had Laughing Water 
Shown resentment at the outrage. 
All had they endured in silence, 
That the rights of guest and 
stranger, 140 

That the virtue of free-giving, 
By a look might not be lessened, 
By a word might not be broken. 

Once at midnight Hiawatha, 
Ever wakeful, ever watchful, 
In the wigwam, dimly lighted 
By the brands that still were burn- 
ing, 
By the glimmering, flickering fire- 
light, 
Heard a sighing, oft repeated, 
Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. 150 
From his couch rose Hiawatha, 
From his shaggy hides of bison, 
Pushed aside the deer-skin cur- 
tain, 
Saw the pallid guests, the shad- 
ows, 
Sitting upright on their couches, 
Weeping in the silent midnight. 
And he said : ' O guests ! why 
is it 
That your hearts are so afflicted, 
That you sob so in the midnight ? 
Has perchance the old Nokomis, 
Has my wife, my Minnehaha, 161 
Wronged or grieved you by unkind- 

ness, 
Failed in hospitable duties ? ' 
Then the shadows ceased from 
weeping, 
Ceased from sobbing and lament- 
ing, 
And they said, with gentle voices : 
4 We are ghosts of the departed, 
Souls of those who once were with 

you. 
From the realms of Chibiabos 169 
Hither have we come to try you, 
Hither have we come to warn you. 



' Cries of grief and lamentation 
Reach us in the Blessed Islands ; 
Cries of anguish from the living, 
Calling back their friends de- 
parted, 
Sadden us with useless sorrow. 
Therefore have we come to try 

you; 
No one knows us, no one heeds us. 
We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 180 
Have no place among the living. 

' Think of this, O Hiawatha ! 
Speak of it to all the people, 
That henceforward and forever 
They no more with lamentations 
Sadden the souls, of the departed 
In the Islands of the Blessed. 

' Do not lay such heavy burdens 
In the graves of those you bury, 
Not such weight of furs and wam- 
pum, 190 
Not such weight of pots and ket- 
tles, 
For the spirits faint beneath them. 
Only give them food to carry, 
Only give them fire to light them. 
' Four days is the spirit's journey 
To the land of ghosts and shadows, 
Four its lonely night encamp- 
ments ; 
Four times must their fires be 

lighted. 
Therefore, when the dead are 

buried, 
Let a fire, as night approaches, 200 
Four times on the grave be kin- 
dled, 
That the soul upon its journey 
May not lack the cheerful firelight, 
May not grope about in darkness. 

' Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! 
We have put you to the trial, 
To the proof have put your pa- 
tience, 
By the insult of our presence, 
By the outrage of our actions. 
We have found you great and 
noble. 210 

Fail not in the greater trial, 
Faint not in the harder struggle.' 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



When they ceased, a sudden 
darkness 
Fell and filled the silent wigwam. 
Hiawatha heard a rustle 
As of garments trailing by him, 
Heard the curtain of the doorway 
Lifted by a hand he saw not, 
Felt the cold breath of the night 
air, 219 

For a moment saw the starlight ; 
But he saw the ghosts no longer, 
Saw no more the wandering spir- 
its 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter. 



XX 

THE FAMINE 

Oh the long and dreary Winter ! 
Oh the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the land- 
scape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the vil- 
lage. 
Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage ; 
With his mittens and his snow- 
shoes 11 
Vainly walked he through the for- 
est, 
Sought for bird or beast and found 

none, 
8aw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weak- 
ness, 
Perished there from cold and hun- 
ger. 
Oh the famine and the fever ! 
Oh the wasting of the famine ! 20 
Oh the blasting of the fever ! 
Oh the wailing of the children ! 
Oh the anguish of the women ! 



All the earth was sick and fam- 
ished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 
them i 
Into Hiawatha's wigwam 29 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 
Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and 

hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 
And the foremost said : ' Behold 
me! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin ! ' 
And the other said : ' Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! ' 41 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon 

her, 
Shuddered at the words they ut- 
tered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, 

burning, 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 
Forth into the empty forest 50 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 
Wrapped in furs and armed for 
hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 60 
On his snow-shoes strode he for- 
ward. 
1 Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! ' 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
' Give your children food, O father? 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



203 



Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! ' 
Through the far-resounding for- 
est, 
Through the forest vast and va- 
cant 70 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
1 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! ' 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose 

thickets, 
In the pleasant days of Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 80 
He had brought his young wife 

homeward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thick- 
ets, 
And the streamlets laughed and 

glistened, 
And the air was full of fragrance, 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not trem- 
ble, 
4 1 will follow you, my husband ! ' 
In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests that 
watched her, 90 

With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She, the dying Minnehaha. 
' Hark ! ' she said ; ' I hear a rush- 
ing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! ' 
4 No, my child ! ' said old Noko- 
mis, 
*'Tis the night-wind in the pine- 
trees ! ' 
4 Look ! ' she said ; ' I see my fa- 
ther 100 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! ' 
'No, my child! ' said old Nokomis, 



' 'T is the smoke, that waves and 
beckons ! ' 
4 Ah ! ' said she, ' the eyes of Pau< 
guk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! ' no 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
' Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! ' 
Over snow-fields waste and path- 
less, 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 120 
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing t 
4 Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for 

you, 
Would that I were dead as you are ! 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! ' 

And he rushed into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 130 

Lying dead and cold before him, 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shud- 
dered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook aud trembled tfith his an- 
guish. 
Then he sat down, still and 
speechless, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 140 
More would lightly run to meet 

him, 
Never more would lightly follow. 
With both hands his face he cov- 
ered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat 

there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there, 



204 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Speechless, motionless, uncon- 
scious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 
Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made 

her, 
In the forest deep and dark- 
some, 150 
Underneath the moaning hem- 
locks ; 
Clothed her in her richest gar- 
ments, 
Wrapped her in her robes of er- 
mine, 
Covered her with snow, like er- 
mine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted, 
On her grave four times was kin- 
dled, 
For her soul upon its journey 
To the Islands of the Blessed. 
From his doorway Hiawatha 160 
Saw it burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 
From his sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the door- 
way, 
That it might not be extinguished, 
Might not leave her in the dark- 
ness. 
4 Farewell ! ' said he, ' Minneha- 
ha .' 
Farewell, O my Laughing Wa- 
ter! 
All my heart is buried with you, 
All my thoughts go onward with 
you! 171 

Come not back again to labor, 
Come not back again to suffer, 
Where the Famine and the Fe- 
ver 
Wear the heart and waste the 

body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall fol- 
low 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! ' 



XXI 

THE WHITE MAW'S FOOT 

In his lodge beside a river, 
Close beside a frozen river, 
Sat an old man, sad and lonely. 
White his hair was as a snow- 
drift ; 
Dull and low his fire was burning, 
And the old man shook and trem- 
bled, 
Folded in his Waubewyon, 
In his tattered white-skin wrapper, 
Hearing nothing but the tempest 
As it roared along the forest, 10 
Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, 
As it whirled and hissed and 
drifted. 
All the coals were white with 
ashes, 
And the fire was slowly dying, 
As a young man, walking lightly, 
At the open doorway entered. 
Red with blood of youth his cheeks 

were, 
Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring- 
time, 
Bound his forehead was with 

grasses ; 
Bound and plumed with scented 
grasses, 20 

On his lips a smile of beauty, 
Filling all the lodge with sunshine, 
In his hand a bunch of blossoms 
Filling all the lodge with sweet- 
ness. 
' Ah, my son ! ' exclaimed the old 
man, 
' Happy are my eyes to see you. 
Sit here on the mat beside me, 
Sit here by the dying embers, 
Let us pass the night together, 
Tell me of your strange adven- 
tures, 30 
Of the lands where you have trav- 
elled ; 
I will tell you of my prowess, 
Of my many deeds of wonder.' 
From his pouch he drew his 
peace-pipe, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



205 



Very old and strangely fashioned ; 
Made of red stone was the pipe- 
head, 
And the stem a reed with feathers ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
Placed a burning coal upon it, 
Gave it to his guest, the stranger, 40 
And began to speak in this wise : 
' When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the land- 
scape, 
Motionless are all the rivers, 
Hard as stone becomes the water ! ' 
And the young man answered, 
smiling : 
' When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the land- 
scape, 
Flowers spring up o'er all the 

meadows, 
Singing, onward rush the rivers ! ' 50 
'When I shake my hoary 
tresses,' 
Said the old man darkly frowning, 
1 All the land with snow is covered ; 
All the leaves from all the branches 
Fall and fade and die and wither, 
For I breathe, and lo! they are 

not. 
From the waters and the marshes 
Rise the wild goose and the heron, 
Fly away to distant regions, 
For I speak, and lo ! they are not. 60 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the wild beasts of the forest 
Hide themselves in holes and cav- 
erns, 
And the earth becomes as flint- 
stone ! ' 
' When I shake my flowing ring- 
lets,' 
Said the young man, softly laugh- 
ing, 
'Showers of rain fall warm and 

welcome, 
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, 
Back into their lakes and marshes 
Come the wild goose and the 
heron, 70 

Homeward shoots the arrowy 
swallow, 



Sing the bluebird and the robin, 
And where'er my footsteps wan- 
der, 
All the meadows wave with blos- 
soms, 
All the woodlands ring with music 
All the trees are dark with foli- 
age!' 
While they spake, the night de- 
parted : 
From the distant realms of Wabun, 
From his shining lodge of silver, 
Like a warrior robed and 
painted, 80 

Came the sun, and said, 'Behold 

me! 
Gheezis, the great sun, behold 
me!' 
Then the old man's tongue was 
speechless 
And the air grew warm and plea- 
sant, 
And upon the wigwam sweetly 
Sang the bluebird and the robin, 
And the stream began to mur- 
mur, 
And a scent of growing grasses 
Through the lodge was gently 
wafted. 
And Segwun, the youthful stran- 
ger, 90 
More distinctly in the daylight 
Saw the icy face before him ; 
It was Peboan, the Winter ! 
From his eyes the tears were 
flowing, 
As from melting lakes the stream- 
lets, 
And his body shrunk and dwin- 
dled 
As the shouting sun ascended, 
Till into the air it faded, 
Till into the ground it vanished, 
And the young man saw before 
him, 100 
On the hearth-stone of the wig- 
wam, 
Where the fire had smoked and 

smouldered, 
Saw the earliest flower of Spring- 
time, 



206 



TPIE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Saw the Beauty of the Spring- 
time, 
Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. 
Thus it was that in the North- 
land 
After that unheard-of coldness, 
That intolerable Winter, 
Came the Spring with all its splen- 
dor, 
All its birds and all its blossoms, 
All its flowers and leaves and 
grasses. 1 1 1 

Sailing on the wind to north- 
ward, 
Flying in great flocks, like arrows, 
Like huge arrows shot through 

heaven, 
Passed the swan, the Mahnahbe- 

zee, 
Speaking almost as a man speaks ; 
And in long lines waving, bend- 
ing 
Like a bow-string snapped asun- 
der, 
Came the white goose, Waw-be- 

wawa; 
And in pairs, or singly flying, 120 
Mahng the loon, with clangorous 

pinions, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh- 

gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkoclasa. 
In the thickets and the meadows 
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
On the summit of the lodges 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
In the covert of the pine-trees 
Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee ; 
And the sorrowing Hiawatha, 130 
Speechless in his infinite sorrow, 
Heard their voices calling to him, 
Went forth from his gloomy door- 
way, 
Stood and gazed into the heaven, 
Gazed upon the earth and wa- 
ters. 
From his wanderings far to east- 
ward, 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun, 
Homeward now returned Iagoo, 



The great traveller, the great 
boaster, 140 

Full of new and strange adven- 
tures, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 

And the people of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 
Of his marvellous adventures, 
Laughing answered him in this 

wise: 
' Ugh ! it is indeed Iagoo ! 
No one else beholds such won- 
ders ! ' 148 
He had seen, he said, a water 
Bigger than the Big-Sea- Water, 
Broader than the Gitche Gumee, 
Bitter so that none could drink it ! 
At each other looked the warriors, 
Looked the women at each other, 
Smiled, and said, ' It cannot be so ! 
Kaw!' they said, 'it cannot be 
SO!' 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 
Came a great canoe with pinions, 
A canoe with wings came flying, 
Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, 
Taller than the tallest tree-tops ! 
And the old men and the women 
Looked and tittered at each other ; 
'Kaw!' they said, 'we don't be- 
lieve it ! ' 
From its mouth, he said, to greet 
him, 
Came Way wassimo, the lightning, 
Came the thunder, Annemeekee ! ' 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo ; 
' Kaw ! ' they said, ' what tales you 
tell us ! ' 170 

In it, said he, came a people, 
In the great canoe with pinions 
Came, he said, a hundred war- 
riors ; 
Painted white were all their faces 
And with hair their chins were 

covered ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed and shouted in derision, 
Like the ravens on the tree-tops, 
Like the crows upon the hem 
locks. 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



207 



1 Kaw ! ' they said, ' what lies you 
tell us ! 180 

Do not think that we believe 
them ! ' 
Only Hiawatha laughed not, 
But he gravely spake and an- 
swered 
To their jeering and their jesting : 
' True is all Iagoo tells us ; 
I have seen it in a vision, 
Seen the great canoe with pinions, 
Seen the people with white faces, 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 190 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

' Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Sends them hither on his errand, 
Sends them to us with his mes- 
sage. 
Wheresoe'er they move, before 

them 
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker; 
Whereso'er they tread, beneath 
them 200 

Springs a flower unknown among 

us, 
Springs the White-man's Foot in 
blossom. 
1 Let us welcome, then, the stran- 
gers, 
Hail them as our friends and bro- 
thers, 
And the heart's right hand of 

friendship 
Give them when they come to see 

us. 
Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 

' I beheld, too, in that vision 
All the secrets of the future, 210 
Of the distant days that shall be. 
I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations. 
All the land was full of people, 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striv- 
ing, 
Speaking many tongues, yet feel- 
ing 



But one heart-beat in their bos- 
oms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes, 
Smoked their towns in all the val- 

leys, 
Over all the lakes and rivers 220 
Rushed their great canoes of thun- 
der. 
' Then a darker, drearier vision 
Passed before me, vague and 

cloud-like ; 
I beheld our nation scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, warring with each 

other : 
Saw the remnants of our people 
Sweeping westward, wild and wo- 

ful, 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of Au- 
tumn ! ' 230 



XXII 

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 
All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joy- 
ous, 
And before him, through the sun, 

shine, 
Westward toward the neighboring 

forest 
Passed in golden swarms the 
Ahmo, 10 

Passed the bees, the honey-mak- 
ers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 
Bright above him shone the hea- 
vens, 
Level spread the lake before him ; 
From its bosom leaped the stur- 
geon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sun* 
shine ; 



208 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water, 
Every tree-top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 20 

From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off the water, 
As the mist from off the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 
Toward the sun his hands were 
lifted, 30 

Both the palms spread out against 

it, 
And between the parted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoul- 
ders, 
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 
Through the rifted leaves and 
branches. 
O'er the water floating, flying, 
Something in the hazy distance, 
Something in the mists of morn- 
ing, 
Loomed and lifted from the wa- 
ter, 40 
Now seemed floating, now seemed 

flying, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 
Was it Shingebis the diver? 
Or the pelican, the Shada ? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah ? 
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flash- 
ing, 
From its glossy neck and fea- 
thers ? 
It was neither goose nor diver, 
Neither pelican nor heron, 50 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Through the shining mist of morn- 
ing, 
But a birch canoe with paddles, 
Rising, sinking on the water, 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine ; 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 



From the farthest realms of morn- 
ing 
Came the Black-Robe chief, the 

Prophet, 
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale- 
face, 60 
With his guides and his compan- 
ions. 
And the noble Hiawatha, 
With his hands aloft extended, 
Held aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation, 
Till the birch canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles, 
Stranded on the sandy margin, 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale- 
face, 
With the cross upon his bosom, 70 
Landed on the sandy margin. 
Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this 

wise : 
' Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you, 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams, 
For the heart's right hand we give 
you. 
'Never bloomed the earth so 
gayly, 80 

Never shone the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil, 
Nor so free from rocks and sand- 
bars. 
For your birch canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand- 
bar. 
* Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, 
Never the broad leaves of our 
cornfields 90 

Were so beautiful to look on, 
As they seem to us this morning, 
When you come so far to see us ! ' 
And the Black-Robe chief made 
answer, 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar : 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



209 



1 Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 
Peace be with you and your peo- 
ple, 
Peace of prayer, and peace of par- 
don, 99 
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary ! ' 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 
Seated them on skins of bison, 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful old Nokomis 
Brought them food in bowls of 

basswood, 
Water brought in birchen dippers, 
And the calumet, the peace-pipe, 
Pilled and lighted for their smok- 
ing. 
All tbe old men of the village, no 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, tbe Prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Came to bid the strangers welcome ; 
' It is well,' they said, ' O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! ' 
In a circle round the doorway, 
With their pipes they sat in 

silence, 
Waiting to behold the strangers, 120 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Robe chief, tbe Pale- 
face, 
From the wigwam came to greet 

them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
' It is well,' they said, ' O brother, 
That you come so far to see us ! ' 
Then the Black-Robe chief, the 
Prophet, 
Told bis message to the people, 
Told the purport of his mission, 130 
Told tbem of the Virgin Mary, 
And ber blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and la- 
bored ; 
How the Jews 5 the tribe accursed, 
Mocked him, scourged him, cruci- 
fied him ; 



How he rose from where they laid 

him, 
Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 140 
And the chiefs made answer, say- 
ing: 
'We have listened to your mes- 
sage, 
We have heard your words of wis- 
dom, 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! ' 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wig- 
wam, 
To the young men and the wo- 
men 
Told the story of the strangers 150 
Whom the Master of Life had sent 

them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 
Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wig- 
wam, 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the cornfields shrill and 

ceaseless 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk- 
keena; 160 

And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 
Slowly o'er the simmering land- 
scape 
Fell the evening's dusk and cool- 
ness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of 

shadow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush, 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hol- 
low; 170 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 
From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 



210 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 



Spake in whispers, spake in this 

wise, 
Did not wake the guests, that 

slumbered : 
* I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keeway- 
din. 181 

But these guests I leave behind 

me, 
In your watch and ward I leave 

them; 
See that never harm comes near 

them, 
See that never fear molests them, 
Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha ! ? 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 
Bade farewell to all the young 
men, 191 

Spake persuading, spake in this 
wise : 
* I am going, O my people, 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have 

vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me ; 
Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 
For the Master of Life has sent 
them 201 

From the land of light and morn- 
ing!' 
On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at 

parting; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sail- 
ing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, ' Westward! west- 
ward ! ' 209 
And with speed it darted forward. 



And the evening sun descend- 
ing 
Set the clouds on fire with red- 
ness, 
Burned the broad sky, like a 

prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splen- 
dor, 
Down whose stream, as down a 

river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, ' 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 220 
And the people from the mar- 
gin 
Watched him floating, rising, sink- 
ing, 
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High intq that sea of splendor, 
Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 
And they said, 'Farewell for- 
ever ! ' 
Said, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha ! ' 229 
And the forests, dark and lonely, 
Moved through all their depths of 

darkness, 
Sighed, ' Farewell, Hiawatha ! ' 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha! ' 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh- 

gah, 
From her haunts among the fen- 
lands, 
Screamed, 'Farewell, O Hiawa- 
tha!' 
Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 240 

In the glory of the sunset, • 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keeway- 

din, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter I 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 211 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



MILES STANDISH 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, 
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, 
Clad in doublet and hose, and hoots of Cordovan leather, 
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. 
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing 
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, 
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,— 
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, 
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, 
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and match, 
lock. 10 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, 
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; 
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. 
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion, 
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window ; 
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, 
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives 
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, ' Not Angles, but Angels.' 
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower. 20 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. 
' Look at these arms,' he said, 'the warlike weapons that hang here 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection ! ■ 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders ; this breast- 
plate, 
Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish 
morasses.' 30 

Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writ- 
ing: 
' Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet ; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon ! ' 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: 
See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; 
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. 
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage ; 



212 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. 
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, 
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, 40 
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, 
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers ! ' 
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams 
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. 
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued : 
* Look ! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted 
High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the pur- 
pose, 
Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible logic, 
Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. 
Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians ; 50 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better, — 
Let them come, if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, 
Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamou ! ' 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, 
Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, 
Forest and meadow add hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, 
Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. 
Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, 
Gloom intermingled with light ; and his voice was subdued with 

emotion, 
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded : 60 

4 Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish ; 
Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside ! 
She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower ! 
Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there, 
Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, 
Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished ! ' 
Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them 
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and tor binding; 
Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar 70 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, 
And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. 
Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful 
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, 
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the 

Eomans, 
Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, 
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence 
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the 

margin, 
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. 80 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the Mayflower, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing ! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla ! 
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ! 



II 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, 
Eeading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm down- 
wards, 90 
Heavily on the page : ' A wonderful man was this Caesar ! 
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow 
Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful ! ' 
Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful : 
' Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. 
Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate 
Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs.' 
' Truly,' continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, 
' Truly a wonderful man was Cains Julius Caesar ! 
Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 100 
Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. 
Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after; 
Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered ; 
He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded ; 
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus ! 
Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, 
When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, 
And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together 
There was no room for their swords ? Why, he seized a shield from >i 

soldier, , 

Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the cap- 
tains, no 
Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns ; 
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons ; 
So he won the clay, the battle of something-or-other. 
That 's what I always say ; if you wish a thing to be well done, 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! ' 

All was silent again ; the Captain continued his reading. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling 
Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower, 
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla; 
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, 120 

Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, 
Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla ! 
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, 



214 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, 
Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth : 
4 When you have finished your work, I have something important to 

tell you. 
Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall not be impatient ! ' 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, 
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention : 
' Speak ; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, 130 
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish.' 
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his 

phrases : 
■ 'T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. 
This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it; 
Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. 
Since Eose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary ; 
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship ; 
Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. 
She is alone in the world ; her father and mother and brother 
Died in the winter together ; I saw her going and coming, 140 

Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying, 
Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever 
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, 
Two have T seen and known ; and the angel whose name is Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, 
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. 
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, 
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, 
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. 150 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning ; 
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, 
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, 
Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden.' 
» 
When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, 
All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, 
Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, 
Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, 
Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, 160 
Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered : 
' Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; 
If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating your maxim, — 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! ' 
But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose, 
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth : 
4 Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it ; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. 
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, 17a 
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 215 

I 'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, 

But of a thundering " No ! " point-blank from the mouth of a woman, 

That I confess I 'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it ! 

So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, 

Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases.' 

Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, 

Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added : 

' Though I have spoken thus ligbtly, yet deep is the feeling that 

prompts me ; 
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friend- 
ship ! ' 180 
Then made answer John Alden : ' The name of friendship is sacred ; 
What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you ! ' 
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, 
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. 



Ill 

THE LOVER'S ERRAND 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, 

Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, 

Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were building 

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, 

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 

All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict, 190 

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. 

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, 

"Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean ! 

' Must I relinquish it all,' he cried with a wild lamentation, — 

'Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion? 

Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence ? 

Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow 

Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England ? 

Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption 200 

Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; 

Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. 

All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly ! 

This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in anger, 

For I have followed too much the heart's desires and devices, 

Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. 

This is the cross I must bear ; the sin and the swift retribution.' 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shal- 
low, 
Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers blooming around him, 210 
Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetness, 
Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. 



216 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



' Puritan flowers,' he said, ' and the type of Puritan maidens, 
Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 
So I will take them to her ; to Priscilla the Mayflower of Plymouth, 
Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them ; 
Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish, 
Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver.' 
So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 220 

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind; 
Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow ; 
Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla 
Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, 
Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, 
Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. 
Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden 
Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 
Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 
While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. 
Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth, 231 
Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, 
Eough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, 
Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 
Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, 
She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, 
Making the humble house and the modest apparel of homespun 
Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being ! 
Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 
Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his 
errand ; 240 

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, 
All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 
Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. 
Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 
' Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards ; 
Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains, 
Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the liv- 
ing, 
It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy endureth forever ! ' 

So he entered the house : and the hum of the wheel and the singing 
Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, 
Bose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, 25 1 
Saying, ' I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage ; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning.' 
Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been min- 
gled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, 
Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, 
Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the 

winter, 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 217 

Keeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the 

doorway, 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla 
Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, 261 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he spoken ; 
Now it was all too late ; the golden moment had vanished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring- 
time, 
Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower that sailed on the 

morrow. 
' I have been thinking all day,' said gently the Puritan maiden, 
' Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of Eng- 
land, — 
They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden : 270 
Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet. 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy 
Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion ; 
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old England. 
You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I almost 
Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched.' 

* Thereupon answered the youth : ' Indeed I do not condemn you ; 280 
Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ? 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage 
Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Ply- 
mouth ! ' 

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters, — 
Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, 290 

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her 

speechless; 
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: 
' If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, 
Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me ? 
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning ! ' 
Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter. 
Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — 
Had no time for such things — such things ! the words grating harshly 
Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she made answer : 
'Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married, 



218 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



Would he be likely to And it, or make it, after the wedding ? 301 

That is the way with you men ; you don't understand us, you cannot. 
When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and 

that one, 
Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, 
Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal, 
And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a woman 
Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, 
Does not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing, 
This is not right nor just : for surely a woman's affection 
Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. 310 

When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. 
Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved me, 
Even this Captain of yours — who knows ? — at last might have won 

me, 
Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can happen.' 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, 
Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding; 
Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders, 
How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction ; 
How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth ; 
He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 320 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England, 
Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish; 
Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded, 
Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent, 
Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon. 
He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature ; 
Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew how during the winter 
He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's ; 
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, 
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always, 330 

Not to be laughed at and scorned^ because he was little of stature ; 
For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous ; 
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish ! 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter, 
Said, in a tremulous voice, ' Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? ' 



IV 

JOHN ALDEN 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, 

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side ; 340 

Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-wind, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 219 

Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. 
Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors, 
Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle, 
So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, 
Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 
Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. 

' Welcome, O wind of the East ! ' he exclaimed in his wild exulta- 
tion, 
1 Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlan- 
tic! 
Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, 
Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottoes and gardens of ocean ! 351 
Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me 
Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me ! ' 

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, 
Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. 
Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contend- 
ing; 
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, 
Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty ! 
1 Is it my fault,' he said, 'that the maiden has chosen between us? 
Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the victor? ' 360 

Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Pro- 
phet: 
4 It hath displeased the Lord ! ' -and he thought of David's transgres- 
sion, 
Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle ! 
Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation, 
Overwhelmed him at once : and he cried in the deepest contrition : 
' It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temptation of Satan ! ' 

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at anchor, 
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow ; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage 370 
Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' ' Ay, ay, 

Sir!' 
Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, 
Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. 
1 Yes, it is plain to me now,' he murmured ; ' the hand of the Lord is 
Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, 
Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue me. 
Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon, 380 

Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England, 
Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred; 



220 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor ; 
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber 
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers 
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and dark. 

ness,— 
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter ! ' 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolu. 
tion, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, 390 
Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, 
Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. 
'Long have you been on your errand,' he said with a cheery de- 
meanor, 
Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. 
' Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us ; 
But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming 
I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. 401 

Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened.' 

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, 

From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened ; 

How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, 

Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. 

But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, 

Words so tender and cruel: 'Why don't you speak for yourself, 
John?' 

Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his 
armor 

Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. 410 

All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, 

E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. 

Wildly he shouted, and loud : ' John Alden ! you have betrayed me ! 

Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, be- 
trayed me ! 

One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler ; 

Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a 
traitor? 

Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! 

You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother ; 

You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keep- 
ing 

I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and se« 
cret, — 420 

You too, Brutus f ah woe to the name of friendship hereafter ! 

Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but henceforward 

Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred l» , 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 221 



So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, 
Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were the veins on his temples. 
But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway. 
Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, 
Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or par- 
ley, 
Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron, 43* 
Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. 
Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard 
Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. 
Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness, 
Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult, 
Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood, 
Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret. 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, 
Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming ; 
Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment, 440 

Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to heaven, 
Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth. 
God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting, 
Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation ; 
So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people ! 
Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, 
Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect ; 
While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, 
Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, 
And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glittered, 450 

Filled, like a quiver, with arrows ; a signal and challenge of warfare, 
Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance. 
This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating 
What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace, 
Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting ; 
One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, 
Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted, 
Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior ! 
Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, 
Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, 460 
' What ! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses ? 
Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted 
There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils? 
Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 
Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon ! ' 
Thereupon answered and said tbe excellent Elder of Plymouth, 
Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language : 
' Not so thought St. Paul, nor yet the other Apostles ; 
Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with ! » 
But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 470 

Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing: 
Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. 



222 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that is righteous, 
Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer the challenge ! ' 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contemptuous ges- 
ture, 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, 
Saying, in thundering tones : ' Here, take it ! this is your answer ! ' 
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 480 
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. 



THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, 
There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth ; 
Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, ' Forward ! ' 
Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 
Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 
Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, 
Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, 
Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 
Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David ; 4go 
Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible,— 
Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. 
Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; 
Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, 
Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Ply- 
mouth 
Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. 
Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys 
Pose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward ; 
Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the 
weather, 500 

Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the May- 
flower 5 
Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced, 
He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. 
Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 
Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. 
Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming ; 
Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains ; 
Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, 
Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 
Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, 514 
Bent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 223 



Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, 
Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon rang 
Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes 
Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure ! 
Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people ! 
Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, 
Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty ! 
Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, 
Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, 520 
Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, 
Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without 
slumber, 
Turning and tossing about in the heat and- unrest of his fever. 
He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, 
Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur ; 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swear- 
ing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence ; 
Then he had turned away, and said : ' I will not awake him ; 
Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of more talking ! ' 530 
Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on his pallet, 
Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning, — 
Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his campaigns in 

Flanders, — 
Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. 
But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden beheld him 
Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, 
Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 
Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. 
Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to embrace him, 
Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for pardon ; 540 

All the old friendship came back, with its tender and grateful emo- 
tions ; 
But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him, — 
Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult 
So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 
Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he spake not ! 
Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people were saying, 
Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, 
Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, 
And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore, 549 
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep 
Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation ! 

There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient 
Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, 
Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him, 
Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels 
Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together 



224 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Into his narrow brain, till at last lie was wholly bewildered. 
Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale. 
One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, 
Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. 560 

He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, 
Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, 
Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue 

him. 
But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla 
Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. 
Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, 
Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, 
That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, 
As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. 
Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts ! 570 
Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, 
Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! 
' Here I remain ! ' he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, 
Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the 

madness, 
Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. 
' Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, 
Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoniug over the ocean. 
There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, 
Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. 
Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! 580 

Koll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I heed not 
Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 
There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, 
As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her foot- 
steps. 
Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence 
Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness ; 
Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, 
So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving ! ' 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, 590 
Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around him 
Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the Mayflower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to the ploughing ! 600 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 225 

Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west-wind, 
Blowing steady and strong; and the Mayflower sailed from the 

harbor, 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward 
Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, 
Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and human ; 610 

Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
Said, ' Let us pray ! ' and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took 

courage. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred 
Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they 

uttered. 
Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard ; 
Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 
Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, 620 

Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake with each other, 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying ' Look ! * he had van- 
ished. 
So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a little, 
Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 



VI 

PRISCILLA 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, 
Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla ; 
And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, 
Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, 630 

Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. 

' Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me ? ' said she. 
' Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading 
Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and wayward, 
Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of decorum ? 
Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying 
What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it ; 
For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, 
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble 
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, 640 

Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. 



226 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles Standish, 
Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into virtues, 
Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting in Flanders* 
As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a woman, 
Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your hero. 
Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. 
You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us, 
Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken ! ' 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles 
Standish : 65^ 

6 1 was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, 
Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping.' 
' No ! ' interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive ; 
* No ; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely. 
It was wrong, I acknowledge ■ for it is the fate of a woman 
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, 
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 659 

Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruit- 
ful, 
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs.' 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover of women: 
' Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me always 
More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, 
Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden ! ' 
.' Ah, by these words, I can see,' again interrupted the maiden, 
' How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. 
"When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, 
Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, 670 
Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct and in 

earnest, 
Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with flattering 

phrases. 
This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you ; 
For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, 
Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 
Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly 
If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, 
If you make use of those common and complimentary phrases 
Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, 
But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting.' 680 

Mute and amazed was Alden ; and listened and looked at Priscilla, 
Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty. 
He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, 
Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an answer. 
So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined 
What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and 
speechless. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 227 

'Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all 

things 
Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friend- 
ship. 
It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it : 
I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. 690 
So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you 
Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles 

Standish. 
For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your friendship 
Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero you think 

him.' 
Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it, 
Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding so 

sorely, 
Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice full of 

feeling: 
• Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who offer you friendship 
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest ! ' 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the Mayflower, 700 
Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, 
Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feeling, 
That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. 
But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the 

sunshine, 
Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly: 
1 Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, 
Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a household, 
You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between 

you, 
When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you found 

me.' 
Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the 
story,— 710 

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. 
Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, 
' He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment ! ' 
But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had suffered,— 
How he had even determined to sail that day in the Mayflower, 
And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threat- 
ened,— 
AH her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, 
' Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been to me always ! ' 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journeys, 
Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, 720 
Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition ; 
Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, 
Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings, 
Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful misgivings. 



228 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 
VII 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily 

northward, 
Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea- 
shore, 
All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. 
Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort ; 730 
He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had 

trusted ! 
Ah ! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his 
armor ! 

' I alone am to blame,' he muttered, ' for mine was the folly. 
"What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, 
Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens ? 
'T was but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish like so many others ! 
What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless ; 
Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and hencefor- 
ward 740 
Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers ! ' 
Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, 
While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, 
Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them. 

After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment 
Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest ; 
Women at work'by the tents, and warriors, horrid with war-paint, 
Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together ; 
Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men, 
Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, 750 
Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing, 
Came to parley with Standish, and offer him' furs as a present; 
Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. 
Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic in stature, 
Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan ; 
One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. 
Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wam- 
pum, 
Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. 
Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. 
4 Welcome, English ! ' they said, — these words they had learned from 
the traders 760 

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. 
Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 229 

Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man, 
Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 
Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his 

cellars, 
Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man ! 
But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, 
Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. 
Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, 
And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain : 770 
6 Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, 
Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat 
Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, 
But on a mountain at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning, 
Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, 
Shouting, " Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat ? " • 
Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left 

hand, 
Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle ; 
Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning : 
4 1 have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle ; 780 
By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty of children ! ' 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish : 
While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, 
Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, 
' By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! but shall speak not ! 
This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us ! 
He is a little man ; let him go and work with the women ! ' 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, 790 
Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly ; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its 

scabbard, 
Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it. 
Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war- 
whoop, 800 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, 
Out of the lightning thunder ; and death unseen ran before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 
Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, 
Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 



230 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the 

greensward, 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. 

There on the flowers of the meadow. the warriors lay, and above 

them, 810 

Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. 

Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth : — 

' Pecksuot bragged very loud of his courage, his strength, and his 

stature, — 
Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see now 
Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you ! ' 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles 

Standi sh. 
When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, 
And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat 
Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a 

fortress, 
All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. 820 
Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, 
Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish ; 
Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, 
He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor. 



VIII 

THE SPINNING-WHEEL 

Month after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of the 

merchants 
Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims. 
All in the village was peace ; the men were intent on their labors, 
Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merestead, 
Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows, 
Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. 830 
All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumor of warfare 
Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. 
Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land with his forces, 
Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies, 
Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. 
Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and contrition 
Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, 
Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river, 
Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish. 

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, 840 

' Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest. 
Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes ; 
Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of paper, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 231 

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded. 
There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard : 
Still may he seen to this day some trace of the well and the orchard. 
Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from annoy- 
ance, 
Kaghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden's allotment 
In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time 
Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal. 850 

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer 
Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of 

Priscilla, 
Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, 
Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship. 
Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling ; 
Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his garden ; 
Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday 
Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs,— 
How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always, 
How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, 860 
How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with gladness, 
How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff, 
How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, 
Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her 

weaving ! 

So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 
Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers, 
As if the thread she was spinning were that of his life and his fortune, 
After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle. 
4 Truly, Priscilla,' he said, ' when I see you spinning and spinning, 
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 870 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment ; 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner.' 
Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter; the 

spindle 
Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers ; 
While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued: 
4 You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia ; 
She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, 
"Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, 
Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. 
She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. 880 
So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall no longer 
Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. 
Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their child- 
hood, 
Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner ! ' 
Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 
Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was the 
sweetest, 



232 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, 
Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden: 
' Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for housewives, 
Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 890 

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting ; 
Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the 

manners, 
Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden ! ' 
Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, 
He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him, 
She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, 
Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, 
Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly 
Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help it ?— 
Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 900 

Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. 
Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! — an Indian had brought them the 

tidings, — 
Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, 
Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces ; 
All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered ! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror ; 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 910 

Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered 
Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, 
Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, 
Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, 
Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and exclaiming : 
' Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder ! ' 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, 
Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing 
Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 920 

Push together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest ; 
So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder, 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Pushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 



IX 

THE WEDDING-DAY 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, 
Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 233 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 
Round the hem of his robe the golden hells and pomegranates. 
Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him 930 
Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! 

This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. 
Friends were assembled together ; the Elder and Magistrate also 
Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the 

Gospel, 
One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. 
Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. 
Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, 
Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, 
After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. 
Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 940 
Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in 

affection, 
Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine benedictions. 

Lo ! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, 

Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! 

Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition ? 

Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? 

Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illusion ? 

Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal ? 

Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed ; 

Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression 950 

Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden? beneath 
them, 

As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud 

Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. 

Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, 

As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 

But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benedic- 
tion, 

Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement 

Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth ! 

Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, ' Forgive me ! 

I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished the feel- 
ing ; 960 

I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it is ended. 

Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, 

Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 

Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden.' 

Thereupon answered the bridegroom : ' Let all be forgotten between 
us,— 

All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and 
dearer ! ' 

Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, 

Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, 

Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, 



234 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband, 970 
Then he said with a smile : ' I should have remembered the adage, — 
If you would be well served, you must serve yourself ; and moreover, 
No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas ! ' 

Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, 
Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, 
Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they gathered and crowded 

about him, 
Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, 
Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, 
Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewil- 
dered, 
He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 980 

Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at 
the doorway, 

Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 

Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 

Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; 

There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea- 
shore, 

There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows ; 

But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, 

Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the 
ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of depar- 
ture, 990 
Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delay- 
ing, 
Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncom- 
pleted. 
Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, 
Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, 
Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, 
Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noon- 
day; 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 1000 
Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
' Nothing is wanting now,' he said with a smile, ' but the distaff ; 
Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha ! ' 

Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 
Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 
Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



2 37 



Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love, through its 
bosom, 

Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. 

Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splen- 
dors, ioio 

Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them sus- 
pended, 

Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir- 
tree, 

Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. 

Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, 

Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, 

Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 

Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. 

So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



. . . come i gru van cantando lor lai, 
Facendo in aer di se lunga riga. 

Dante. 

FLIGHT THE FIRST 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

Black shadows fall 
From the lindens tall, 
That lift aloft their massive wall 
Against the southern sky ; 

And from the realms 
Of the shadowy elms 
A tide-like darkness overwhelms 
The fields that round us lie. 

But the night is fair, 
And everywhere 
A warm, soft vapor fills the air, 
And distant sounds seem near ; 

And above, in the light 
Of the star-lit night, 
Swift birds of passage wing their 
flight 
Through the dewy atmosphere. 

I hear the beat 

Of their pinions fleet, 



As from the land of snow and 
sleet 
They seek a southern lea. 

I hear the cry 
Of their voices high 
Falling dreamily through the 
sky, 
But their forms I cannot see. 

Oh, say not so ! 
Those sounds that flow 
In murmurs of delight and woe 
Come not from wings of birds. 

They are the throngs 
Of the poet's songs, 
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, 
and wrongs, 
The sound of winged words. 

This is the cry 
Of souls, that high 
On toiling, beating pinions, fly, 
Seeking a warmer clime. 



234 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



From their distant flight 
Through realms of light 
It falls into our world of night, 
With the murmuring sound of 
rhyme. 



PEOMETHEUS 

OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT 

Op Prometheus, how undaunted 
On Olympus' shining bastions 
His audacious foot he planted, 
Myths are told and songs are 
chanted, 
Full of promptings and sugges- 
tions. 

Beautiful is the tradition 

Of that flight through heavenly 
portals, 
The old classic superstition 
Of the theft and the transmission 

Of the fire of the Immortals ! 

First the deed of noble daring, 

Born of heavenward aspiration, 
Then the fire with mortals shar- 
ing, 
Then the vulture, — the despair- 
ing 
Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. 

All is but a symbol painted 

Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; 
Only those are crowned and 

sainted 
Who with grief have been ac- 
quainted, 
Making nations nobler, freer. 

In their feverish exultations, 
In their triumph and their yearn- 
ing, 
In their passionate pulsations, 
In their words among the nations, 
The Promethean fire is burning. 

Shall it, then, be unavailing, 
All this toil for human culture ? 



Through the cloud-rack, dark and 
trailing, 

Must they see above them sail- 
ing 
O'er life's barren crags the vul- 
ture ? 

Such a fate as this was Dante's, 

By defeat and exile maddened ; 
Thus were Milton and Cervantes, 
Nature's priests and Corybantes, 
By affliction touched and sad- 
dened. 

But the glories so transcendent 
That around their memories 
cluster, 
And, on all their steps attendant, 
Make their darkened lives resplen- 
dent 
With such gleams of inward 
lustre ! 

All the melodies mysterious, 
Through the dreary darkness 
chanted ; 
Thoughts in attitudes imperious, 
Voices soft, and deep, and serious, 
Words that whispered, songs 
that haunted ! 

All the soul in rapt suspension, 

All the quivering, palpitating 

Chords of life in utmost tension, 

With the fervor of invention, 

With the rapture of creating ! 

Ah, Prometheus ! heaven-scaling ! 

In such hours of exultation 
Even the faintest heart, unquail- 

ing, 
Might behold the vulture sailing 
Bound the cloudy crags Cauca. 
sian! 

Though to all there be not given 
Strength for such sublime en. 
deavor, 
Thus to scale the walls of heaven, 
And to leaven with fiery leaven, 
All the hearts of men forever ; 



EPIMETHEUS 



237 



Yet all bards, whose hearts un- 


Voices single, and in chorus, 


blighted 


Like the wild birds singing o'er 


Honor and believe the presage, 


us 


Hold aloft their torches lighted, 


In the dark of branches hid- 


Gleaming through the realms be- 


den. 


nighted, 




As they onward bear the mes- 


Disenchantment ! Disillusion ! 


sage ! 


Must each noble aspiration 




Come at last to this conclusion, 




Jarring discord, wild confusion, 


EPIMETHEUS 


Lassitude, renunciation ? 


OB THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT 


Not with steeper fall nor faster, 




From the sun's serene domin- 


Have I dreamed? or was it real, 


ions, 


What I saw as in a vision, 


Not through brighter realms nor 


When to marches hymeneal 


vaster, 


In the land of the Ideal 


In swift ruin and disaster, 


Moved my thought o'er Fields 


Icarus fell with shattered pin- 


Elysian ? 


ions ! 


What ! are these the guests whose 


Sweet Pandora ! dear Pandora ! 


glances 


Why did mighty Jove create 


Seemed like sunshine gleaming 


thee 


round me ? 


Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora, 


These the wild, bewilderingfancies, 


Beautiful as young Aurora, 


That with dithyrambic dances 


If to win thee is to hate thee ? 


As with magic circles bound me ? 






No, not hate thee! for this feel- 


Ah ! how cold are their caresses ! 


ing 


Pallid cheeks, and haggard bos- 


Of unrest and long resistance 


oms! 


Is but passionate appealing, 


Spectral gleam their snow-white 


A prophetic whisper stealing 


dresses, 


O'er the chords of our existence. 


And from loose, dishevelled 




tresses 


Him whom thou dost once enamor, 


Fall the hyacinthine blossoms ! 


Thou, beloved, never leavest ; 




In life's discord, strife, and clamor, 


my songs ! whose winsome mea- 


Still he feels thy spell of gla- 


sures 


mour ; 


Filled my heart with secret rap- 


Him of Hope thou ne'er bereav- 


ture ! 


est. 


Children of my golden leisures ! 




Must even your delights and plea- 


Weary hearts by thee are lifted, 


sures 


Struggling souls by thee are 


Fade and perish with the cap- 


strengthened, 


ture? 


Clouds of fear asunder rifted, 




Truth from falsehood cleansed and 


Fair they seemed, those songs 


sifted, 


sonorous. 


Lives, like days in summer, 


When they came to me unbidden : 


lengthened ! 



2 3 3 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Therefore art thou ever dearer, 


Whatever hinders or impedes 


my Sibyl, my deceiver ! 


The actiou of the nobler will ; — 


For thou makest each mystery 




clearer, 


All these must first be trampled 


And the unattained seems nearer, 


down 


When thou fillest my heart with 


Beneath our feet, if we would 


fever ! 


gain 




In the bright fields of fair renown 


Muse of all the Gifts and Graces ! 


The right of eminent domain. 


Though the fields around us 




wither, 


We have not wings, we cannot 


There are ampler realms and 


soar ; 


spaces, 


But we have feet to scale and 


Where no foot has left its traces : 


climb 


Let us turn and wander thither ! 


By slow degrees, by more and 
more, 
The cloudy summits of our time. 




THE LADDER OF SAINT 




AUGUSTINE 


The mighty pyramids of stone 




That wedge-like cleave the de- 


Saint Augustine! well hast 


sert airs, 


thou said, 


When nearer seen, and better 


That of our vices we can frame 


known, 


A ladder, if we will but tread 


Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 


Beneath our feet each deed of 




shame ! 


The distant mountains, that up- 


All common things, each day's 


rear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 


events, 


Are crossed by pathways, that ap- 


That with the hour beginandend, 


pear 


Our pleasures and our discontents, 


As we to higher levels rise. 


Are rounds by which we may as- 




cend. 


The heights by great men reached 




and kept 


The low desire, the base design, 


Were not attained by sudden 


That makes another's virtues 


flight, 


less ; 


But they, while their companions 


The revel of the ruddy wine, 


slept, 


And all occasions of excess ; 


Were toiling upwarfi in the night. 


The longing for ignoble things ; 


Standing on what too long we bore 


The strife for triumph more than 


With shoulders bent and down- 


truth ; 


cast eyes, 


The hardening of the heart, that 


We may discern — unseen before — 


brings 


A path to higher destinies, 


Irreverence for the dreams of 




youth ; 


Nor deem the irrevocable Past 




As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 


All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, 


If, rising on its wrecks, at last 


That have their root in thoughts 


To something nobler we at 


of ill; 


tain. 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS 239 



THE PHANTOM SHIP 

[n Mather's Magnalia Christi, 
Of the old colonial time, 

May be found in prose the legend 
That is here set down in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs, 

That filled her sails at parting, 
Were heavy with good men's 
prayers. 

4 O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure ' — 
Thus prayed the old divine — 

1 To bury our friends in the ocean, 
Take them, for they are thine ! ' 

But Master Lamberton muttered, 
And under his breath said he, 

'This ship is so crank and walty, 
I fear our grave she will be ! ' 

And the ships that came from Eng- 
land, 
When the winter months were 
gone, 
Brought no tidings of this vessel 
Nor of Master Lamberton. 

This put the people to praying 
That the Lord would let them 
hear 

What in his greater wisdom 
He had done with friends so dear. 

And at last their prayers were an- 
swered : 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below, 
And they knew it was Lamberton, 
Master, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of can- 
vas, 
Right against the wind that blew, 



Until the eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts, 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds, 

And her sails were loosened and 
lifted, 
And blown away like clouds. 

And the masts, with all their rig- 
ging, 

Fell slowly, one by one, 
And the hulk dilated and vanished. 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this mar- 
vel 
Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their 
vessel, 
And thus her tragic end. 

And the pastor of the village 
Gave thanks to God in prayer, 

That, to quiet their troubled 
spirits, 
He had sent this Ship of Air. 

THE WARDEN OF THE 
CINQUE PORTS 

A mist was driving down the 
British Channel, 
The day was just begun, 
And through the window-panes, on 
floor and panel, 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rip- 
pling pennon, 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, 
the black cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, 
Hithe, and Dover 
Were all alert that day, 
To see the French war-steamers 
speeding over, 
When the fog cleared away. 



240 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Sullen and silent, and like couch- 
ant lions, 
Their cannon, through the 
night, 
Holding their breath, had watched, 
in grim defiance, 
The sea-coast opposite. 

And now they roared at drum-beat 
from their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morn- 
ing salutations, 
That all was well. 

And down the coast, all taking up 
the burden, 
Eeplied the distant forts, 
As if to summon from his sleep 
the "Warden 
And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the 
fields of azure, 
No drum -beat from the 
wall, 
No morning gun from the black 
fort's embrasure, 
Awaken with its call !. 

No more, surveying with an eye 
impartial 
The long line of the coast, 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old 
Field Marshal 
Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single 
warrior, 
In sombre harness mailed, 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed 
the Destroyer, 
The rampart wall had scaled. 

He passed into the chamber of the 

sleeper, 

The dark and silent room, 

And as he entered, darker grew, 

and deeper, 

The silence and the gloom. 



He did not pause to parley or dis- 
semble, 
But smote the Warden hoar ; 
Ah! what a blow! that made all 
England tremble 
And groan from shore to 
shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly 
cannon waited, 
The sun rose bright o'er- 
head; 
Nothing in Nature's aspect inti- 
mated 
That a great man was dead. 






HAUNTED HOUSES 

All houses wherein men have 
lived and died 
Are haunted houses. Through 
the open doors 
The harmless phantoms on their 
errands glide, 
With feet that make no sound 
upon the floors. 

We meet them at the doorway, on 
the stair, 
Along the passages they come 
and go, 
Impalpable impressions on the 
air, 
A sense of something moving to 
and fro. 

There are more guests at table 
than the hosts 
Invited ; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive 
ghosts, 
As silent as the pictures on the 
wall. 

The stranger at my fireside can- 
not see 
The forms I see, nor hear the 
sounds I hear ; 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE 241 



He but perceives what is ; while 
unto me 
All that has been is visible and 
clear. 

We have no title-deeds to house or 
lands ; 
Owners and occupants of earlier 
dates 
From graves forgotten stretch 
their dusty hands, 
And hold in mortmain still their 
old estates. 

The spirit-world around this world 
of sense 
Floats like an atmosphere, and 
everywhere 
Wafts through these earthly mists 
and vapors dense 
A vital breath of more ethereal 
air. 

Our little lives are kept in equi- 
poise 
By opposite attractions and 
desires ; 
The struggle of the instinct that 
enjoys, 
And the more noble instinct that 
aspires. 

These perturbations, this perpet- 
ual jar 
Of earthly wants and aspirations 
high, 
Come from the influence of an un- 
seen star, 
An undiscovered planet in our 
sky. 

And as the moon from some dark 
gate of cloud 
Throws o'er the sea a floating 
bridge of light, 
Across whose trembling planks 
our fancies crowd 
Into the realm of mystery and 
night,— 



So from the world of spirits there 
descends 
A bridge of light, connecting it 
with this, 
O'er whose unsteady floor, that 
sways and bends, 
Wander our thoughts above the 
dark abyss. 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT 
CAMBRIDGE 

In the village churchyard she 

lies, 
Dust is in her beautiful eyes, 
No more she breathes, nor feels, 
nor stirs ; 
At her feet and at her head 
Lies a slave to attend the dead, 
But their dust is white as hers. 

Was she a lady of high degree, 
So much in love with the vanity 
And foolish pomp of this world 
of ours ? 
Or was it Christian charity, 
And lowliness and humility, 
The richest and rarest of all 
dowers ? 

Who shall tell us ? No one speaks ; 
No color shoots into those cheeks, 

Either of anger or of pride, 
At the rude question we have 

asked ; 
Nor will the mystery be unmasked 
By those who are sleeping at her 
side. 

Hereafter? — And do you think to 
look 

On the terrible pages of that Book 
To find her failings, faults, and 
errors? 

Ah, you will then have other cares, 

In your own shortcomings and 
despairs, 
In your own secret sins and ter- 
rors! 



242 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S- 

NEST 

Once the Emperor Charles of 
Spain, 
With his swarthy, grave com- 
manders, 
I forget in what campaign, 
Long besieged, in mud and rain, 
Some old frontier town of Flan- 
ders. 

Up and down the dreary camp, 

In great boots of Spanish leather, 
Striding with a measured tramp, 
These Hidalgos, dull and damp, 
Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed 
the weather. 

Thus as to and fro they went 
Over upland and through hol- 
low, 
Giving their impatience vent, 
Perched upon the Emperor's tent, 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 

Yes, it w r as a swallow's nest, 

Built of clay and hair of horses, 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, 
Found on hedge-rows east and 
west, 
After skirmish of the forces. 

Then an old Hidalgo said. 

As he twirled his gray mustachio, 
4 Sure this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, 

And the Emperor but a Macho ! ' 

Hearing his imperial name 
Coupled with those words of 
malice, 
Half in anger, half in shame, 
Forth the great campaigner came 
Slowly from his canvas palace. 

' Let no hand the bird molest,' 
Said he solemnly, ' nor hurt her!' 

Adding then, by way of jest, 

' Golondrina is my guest, 
'T is the wife of some deserter ! ' 



Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, 
Through the camp was spread 
the rumor, 
And the soldiers, as they quaffed 
Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 
At the Emperor's pleasant hu- 



So unharmed and unafraid 

Sat the swallow still and brooded, 
Till the constant cannonade 
Through the walls a breach had 
made, 
And the siege was thus con- 
eluded. 

Then the army, elsewhere bent, 

Struck its tents as if disbanding, 
Only not the Emperor's tent, 
For he ordered, ere he went, 
Very curtly, ' Leave it standing ! ' 

So it stood there all alone, 
Loosely flapping, torn and tat- 
tered, 
Till the brood was fledged and 

flown, 
Singing o'er those walls of stone 
Which the cannon-shot had shat- 
tered. 



THE TWO ANGELS 

Two angels, one of Life and one 
of Death, 
Passed o'er our village as the 
morning broke ; 
The dawn was on their faces, and 
beneath, 
The sombre houses hearsed with 
plumes of smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were 
the same, 
Ahke their features and their 
robes of white ; 
But one was crowned with ama- 
ranth, as with flame, 
And one with asphodels, like 
flakes of light. 



DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT 



243 



I saw them pause on their celestial 


Then fell upon the house a sudden 


way; 


gloom, 


Then said I, with deep fear and 


A shadow on those features fair 


doubt oppressed, 


and thin ; 


Beat not so loud, my heart, lest 


And softly, from that hushed and 


thou betray 


darkened room, 


The place where thy beloved are 


Two angels issued, where but 


at rest ! ' 


one went in. 


And he who wore the crown of - 


All is of God ! If he but wave his 


asphodels, 


hand, 


Descending, at my door began 


The mists collect, the rain falls 


to knock, 


thick and loud, 


And my soul sank within me, as 


Till, with a smile of light on sea 


in wells 


and land, 


The waters sink before an earth- 


Lo ! he looks back from the de- 


quake's shock. 


parting cloud. 


I recognized the nameless agony, 


Angels of Life and Death alike are 


The terror and the tremor and 


his ; 


the pain, 


Without his leave they pass no 


That oft before had filled or 


threshold o'er : 


haunted me, 


Who, then, would wish or dare, be- 


And now returned with three- 


lieving this, 


fold strength again. 


Against his messengers to shut 




the door? 


The door I opened to rny heavenly 




guest, 




And listened, for I thought I 




heard God's voice ; 


DAYLIGHT AND MOON- 


And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent 


LIGHT 


was best, 




Dared neither to lament nor to 


In broad daylight, and at noon, 


rejoice. 


Yesterday I saw the moon 




Sailing high, but faint and white, 


Then with a smile, that filled the 


As a school-boy's paper kite. 


house with light, 




'My errand is not Death, but 


In broad daylight, yesterday, 


Life,' he said ; 


I read a Poet's mystic lay ; 


And ere I answered, passing out 


And it seemed to me at most 


*» of sight, 


As a phantom, or a ghost. 


On his celestial embassy he sped. 






But at length the feverish day 


'T was at thy door, friend ! and 


Like a passion died away, 


not at mine, 


And the night, serene and still, 


The angel with the amaranthine 


Fell on village, vale, and hill. 


wreath, 




Pausing, descended, and with voice 


Then the moon, in all her pride, 


divine 


Like a spirit glorified, 


Whispered a word that had a 


Filled and overflowed the night 


sound like Death. 


With revelations of her light. 



244 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And the Poet's song again 


Then added, in the certainty of 


Passed like music through my 


faith, 


brain ; 


' And giveth Life that nevermore 


Night interpreted to me 


shall cease.' 


All its grace and mystery. 






Closed are the portals of their 




Synagogue, 


THE JEWISH CEMETERY 


No Psalms of David now the si- 


AT NEWPORT 


lence break, 




No Rabbi reads the ancient De- 


How strange it seems ! These He- 


calogue 


brews in their graves, 


In the grand dialect the Prophets 


Close by the street of this fair 


spake. 


seaport town, 




Silent beside the never - silent 


Gone are the living, but the dead 


waves, 


remain, 


At rest in all this moving up and 


And not neglected; for a hand 


down ! 


unseen, 




Scattering its bounty, like a sum- 


The trees are white with dust, that 


mer rain, 


o'er their sleep 


Still keeps their graves and their 


Wave their broad curtains in the 


remembrance green. 


south-wind's breath, 




While underneath these leafy tents 


How came they here ? What burst 


they keep 


of Christian hate, 


The long, mysterious Exodus of 


What persecution, merciless and 


Death. 


blind, 




Drove o'er the sea — that desert 


And these sepulchral stones, so 


desolate — 


old and brown, 


These Ishmaels and Hagars of 


That pave with level flags their 


mankind ? 


burial-place, 




Seem like the tablets of the Law, 


They lived in narrow streets and 


thrown down 


lanes obscure, 


And broken by Moses at the 


Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk 


mountain's base. 


and mire ; 




Taught in the school of patience 


The very names recorded here are 


to endure 


strange, 


The life of anguish and the death 


Of foreign accent, and of differ- 


of fire. 


ent climes ; 




Alvares and Rivera interchange 


All their lives long, with the un- 


With Abraham and Jacob of old 


leavened bread 


times. 


And bitter herbs of exile and its 




fears, 


'Blessed be God, for he created 


The wasting famine of the heart 


Death ! ' 


they fed, 


The mourners said, ' and Death 


And slaked its thirst with marah 


is rest and peace ; ' 


of their tears. 



OLIVER BASSELIN 



2 45 



Anathema maranatha! was the 
cry 
That rang from town to town, 
from street to street : 
At every gate the accursed Mor- 
decai 
Was mocked and jeered, and 
spurned by Christian feet. 

Pride and humiliation hand in 
hand 
Walked with them through the 
world where'er they went ; 
Trampled and beaten were they 
as the sand, 
And yet unshaken as the conti- 
nent. 

For in the background figures 
vague and vast 
Of patriarchs and of prophets 
rose sublime, 
And all the great traditions of the 
Past 
They saw reflected in the com- 
ing time. 

And thus forever with reverted 
look 
The mystic volume of the world 
they read, 
Spelling it backward, like a He- 
brew book, 
Till life became a Legend of the 
Dead. 

But ah ! what once has been shall 
be no more ! 
The groaning earth in travail 
and in pain 
Brings forth its races, but does 
not restore, 
And the dead nations never rise 
again. 



OLIVER BASSELIN 

In the Valley of the Vire 
Still is seen an ancient mill, 

With its gables quaint and queer, 
And beneath the window-sill, 



On the stone, 
These words alone : 
' Oliver Basselin lived here.' 

Far above it, on the steep, 

Ruined stands the old Chateau ; 
Nothing but the donjon-keep 
Left for shelter or for show. 
Its vacant eyes 
Stare at the skies, 
Stare at the valley green and 
deep. 

Once a convent, old and brown, 
Looked, but ah! it looks no 
more, 
From the neighboring hillside 
down 
On the rushing and the roar 
Of the stream 
Whose sunny gleam 
Cheers the little Norman town. 

In that darksome mill of stone, 
To the water's dash and din, 
Careless, humble, and unknown, 
Sang the poet Basselin 
Songs that fill 
That ancient mill 
With a splendor of its own. 

Never feeling of unrest 
Broke the pleasant dream he 
dreamed ; 
Only made to be his nest, 
All the lovely valley seemed ; 
No desire 
Of soaring higher 
Stirred or fluttered in his breast. 

True, his songs were not divine ; 

Were not songs of that high art. 
Which, as winds do in the pine, 
Find an answer in each heart ; 
But the mirth 
Of this green earth 
Laughed and revelled in his line„ 

From the alehouse and the inn, 
Opening on the narrow street, 
Came the loud, convivial din, 



246 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Singing and applause of feet, 


In the mist of the morning damp 


The laughing lays 


and gray, 


/ That in those days 


These were the words they seemed 


Sang the poet Basselin. 


to say : 




' Come forth to thy death, 


In the castle, cased in steel, 


Victor Galbraith ! ' 


Knights, who fought at Agin- 




court, 


Forth he came, with a martial 


Watched and waited, spur on 


tread ; 


heel ; 


Firm was his step, erect his head ; 


But the poet sang for sport 


Victor Galbraith, 


Songs that rang 


He who so well the bugle played, 


Another clang, 


Could not mistake the words it 


Songs that lowlier hearts could 


said: 


feel. 


' Come forth to thy death, 




Victor Galbraith ! ' 


In the convent, clad in gray, 




Sat the monks in lonely cells, 


He looked at the earth, he looked 


Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, 


at the sky, 


And the poet heard their bells ; 


He looked at the files of mus- 


But his rhymes 


ketry, 


Found other chimes, 


Victor Galbraith ! 


Nearer to the earth than they. 


And he said, with a steady voice 




and eye, 


Gone are all the barons bold, 


'Take good aim; I am ready to 


Gone are all the knights and 


die ! ' 


squires, 


Thus challenges death 


Gone the abbot stern and cold, 


Victor Galbraith. 


And the brotherhood of friars ; 




Not a name 


Twelve fiery tongues flashed 


Kemains to fame, 


straight and red, 


From those mouldering days of 


Six leaden balls on their errand 


old! 


sped; 




Victor Galbraith 


But the poet's memory here 


Falls to the ground, but he is not 


Of the landscape makes a part ; 


dead : 


Like the river, swift and clear, 


His name was not stamped on 


Flows his song through many a 


those balls of lead, 


heart; 


And they only scath 


Haunting still 


Victor Galbraith. 


That ancient mill 




In the Valley of the Vire. 


Three balls are in his breast and 




brain, 




But he rises out of the dust again, 




Victor Galbraith ! 


VICTOE GALBRAITH 


The water he drinks has a bloody 




stain ; 


Under the walls of Monterey 


' Oh kill me, and put me out of my 


At daybreak the bugles began to 


pain ! ' 


Play, 


, In his agony prayeth 


Victor Galbraith ! 


Victor Galbraith. 



MY LOST YOUTH 



247 



Forth dart once more those tongues 

of flame, 
And the bugler has died a death of 
shame, 
Victor Galbraith ! 
His soul has gone back to whence 

it came, 
And no one answers to the name, 
When the Sergeant saith, 
1 Victor Galbraith ! ' 

Under the walls of Monterey 
By night a bugle is heard to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
Through the mist of the valley 

damp and gray 
The sentinels hear the sound, and 
say, 
4 That is the wraith 
Of Victor Galbraith ! ' 



MY LOST YOUTH 

Often I think of the beautiful 
town 
That is seated by the sea ; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that clear 
old town, 
And my youth comes back to 
me. 
And a verse of a Lapland 

song 
Is haunting my memory still : 
' A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

I can see the shadowy lines of its 
trees, 
And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding 

seas, 
And islands that were the Hes- 
perides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 
And the burden of that old 

song, 
It murmurs and whispers still : 



' A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

I remember the black wharves 
and the slips, 
And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded 

lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of 
the ships, 
And the magic of the sea. 
And the voice of that wayward 

song 
Is singing and saying still : 
'A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

I remember the bulwarks by the 
shore, 
And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow 

roar, 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and 
o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old 

song 
Throbs in my memory still : 
'A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 

How it thundered o'er the tide ! 

And the dead captains, as they 

lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the 
tranquil bay 
Where they in battle died. 
And the sound of that mourn- 
ful song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
4 A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 



248 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



I can see the breezy dome of 
groves, 
The shadows of Deering's 
"Woods ; 
And the friendships old and the 

early loves 
Come back with a Sabbath sound, 
as of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 
And the verse of that sweet 

old song, 
It flutters and murmurs still : 
'A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

I remember the gleams and glooms 
that dart 
Across the school-boy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the 

heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and 
in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 
And the voice of that fitful 

song 
Sings on, and is never still : 
'A boy's will is the wind's 
will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

There are things of which I may 
not speak ; 
There are dreams that cannot 
die; 
There are thoughts that make the 

strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
And a mist before the eye. 
And the words of that fatal 

song 
Come over me like a chill : 
• A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

Strange to me now are the forms 
I meet 
When I visit the dear old town ; 



But the native air is pure and 

sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow 
each well-known street, 
As they balance up and down, 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering 

still : 
' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 

And Deering's Woods are fresh 
and fair, 
And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander 

there, 
And among the dreams of the days 
that were, 
I find my lost youth again. 
And the strange and beautiful 

song, 
The groves are repeating it 

still : 
' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are 
long, long thoughts.' 



THE EOPEWALK 

Ik that building, long and low, 
With its windows all a-row, 

Like the port-holes of a hulk, 
Human spiders spin and spin, 
Backward down their threads so 

thin 
- Dropping, each a hempen bulk. 

At the end, an open door ; 
Squares of sunshine on the floor 

Light the long and dusky lane ; 
And the whirring of a wheel, 
Dull and drowsy, makes me feel 

All its spokes are in my brain. 

As the spinners to the end 
Downward go and reascend, 
Gleam the long threads in the 
sun ;. 
While within this brain of mine 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE 



249 



Cobwebs brighter and more fine 
By the busy wheel are spun. 

Two fair maidens in a swing, 
Like white doves upon the wing, 

First before my vision pass ; 
Laughing, as their gentle hands 
Closely clasp the twisted strands, 

At their shadow on the grass. 

Then a booth of mountebanks, 
"With its smell of tan and planks, 

And a girl poised high in air 
On a cord, in spangled dress, 
With a faded loveliness, 

And a Aveary look of care. 

Then a homestead among farms, 
And a woman with bare arms 

Drawing water from a well ; 
As the bucket mounts apace, 
With it mounts her own fair face, 

As at some magician's spell. 

Then an old man in a tower, 
Ringing loud the noontide hour, 

"While the rope coils round and 
round 
Like a serpent at his feet, 
And again, in swift retreat, 

Nearly lifts him from the ground. 

Then within a prison-yard, 
Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, 

Laughter and indecent mirth ; 
Ah ! it is the gallows-tree ! 
Breath of Christian charity, 

Blow, and sweep, it from the 
earth ! 

Then a school-boy, with his kite 
Gleaming in a sky of light, 

And an eager, upward look ; 
Steeds pursued through lane and 

field; 
Fowlers with their snares con- 
cealed ; 
And an angler by a brook. 

Ships rejoicing in the breeze, 
Wrecks that float o'er unknown 
seas. 



Anchors dragged through faith- 
less sand; 
Sea-fog drifting overhead, 
And, with lessening line and lead, 

Sailors feeling for the land. 

All these scenes do I behold, 
These, and many left untold, 

In that building long and low ; 
While the wheel goes round and 

round, 
With a drowsy, dreamy sound, 

And the spinners backward go. 

THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE 

Leafless are the trees ; their 

purple branches 
Spread themselves abroad, like 

reefs of coral, 
Rising silent 
In the Bed Sea of the winter sunset. 

From the hundred chimneys of the 

village, 
Like the Afreet in the Arabian 

story, 
Smoky columns 
Tower aloft into the air of amber. 

At the window winks the flicker- 
ing firelight ; 

Here and there the lamps of even- 
ing glimmer, 
Social watch-fires 

Answering one another through 
the darkness. 

On the hearth the lighted logs are 
glowing, 

And like Ariel in the cloven pine- 
tree 
For its freedom 

Groans and sighs the air impris- 
oned in them. 

By the fireside there are old men 
seated, 

Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, 
Asking sadly 

Of the Past what it can ne'er re- 
store them. 



250 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



By the fireside there are youthful 

dreamers, 
Building castles fair, with stately 

stairways, 
Asking blindly 
Of the Future what it cannot give 

them. 

By the fireside tragedies are acted 
In whose scenes appear two actors 
only, 
Wife and husband, 
And above them God the sole spec- 
tator. 

By the fireside there are peace and 

comfort, 
Wives and children, with fair, 

thoughtful faces, 
Waiting, watching 
For a well-known footstep in the 

passage. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden 

Mile-Stone ; 
Is the central point, from which he 

measures 
Every distance 
Through the gateways of the 

world around him. 

In his farthest wanderings still he 
sees it ; 

Hears the talking flame, the an- 
swering night-wind, 
As he heard them 

When he sat with those who were, 
but are not. 

Happy he whom neither wealth 

nor fashion, 
Nor the march of the encroaching 

city, 
Drives an exile 
From the hearth of his ancestral 

homestead. 

We may build more splendid habi- 
tations, 

Fill our rooms with paintings and 
with sculptures, 
But we cannot 

Buy with gold the old associations ! 



CATAWBA WINE 

This song of mine 

Is a Song of the Vine, 
To be sung by the glowing embers 

Of wayside inns, 

When the rain begins 
To darken the drear Novembers. 

It is not a song 

Of the Scuppernong, 
From warm Carolinian valleys, 

Nor the Isabel 

And the Muscadel 
That bask in our garden alleys, 

Nor the red Mustang, 

Whose clusters hang 
O'er the waves of the Colorado, 

And the fiery flood 

Of whose purple blood 
Has a dash of Spanish bravado. 

For richest and best 

Is the wine of the West, 
That grows by the Beautiful River; 

Whose sweet perfume 

Fills all the room 
With a benison on the giver. 

And as hollow trees 

Are the haunts of bees, 
Forever going and coming ; 

So this crystal hive 

Is all alive 
With a swarming and buzzing and 
humming. 

Very good in its way 

Is the Verzenay, 
Or the Sillery soft and creamy ; 

But Catawba wine 

Has a taste more divine, 
More dulcet, delicious, and 
dreamy. 

There grows no vine 
By the haunted Rhine, 

By Danube or Guadalquivir, 
Nor on island or cape, 
That bears such a grape 

As grows by the Beautiful River. 



SANTA FILOMENA 



2 5* 



Drugged is their juice 


And by their overflow 


For foreign use, 


Raise us from what is low ! 


When shipped o'er the reeling At- 




lantic, 


Thus thought I, as by night I 


To rack our brains 


read 


"With the fever pains, 


Of the great army of the dead, 


That have driven the Old World 


The trenches cold and damp, 


frantic. 


The starved and frozen 




camp, — 


To the sewers and sinks 




With all such drinks, 


The wounded from the battle- 


And after them tumble the mixer ; 


plain, 


For a poison malign 


In dreary hospitals of pain, 


Is such Borgia wine, 


The cheerless corridors, 


Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. 


The cold and stony floors. 


While pure as a spring 


Lo ! in that house of misery 


Is the wine I sing, 


A lady with a lamp I see 


And to praise it, one needs but 


Pass through the glimmering 


name it ; 


gloom, 


For Catawba wine 


And flit from room to room. 


Has need of no sign, 




No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 


And slow, as in a dream of 




bliss, 


And this Song of the Vine, 


The speechless sufferer turns to 


This greeting of mine, 


kiss 


The winds and the birds shall de- 


Her shadow, as it falls 


liver 


Upon the darkening walls. 


To the Queen of the West, 




In her garlands dressed, 


As if a door in heaven should 


On the banks of the Beautiful 


be 


Eiver. 


Opened and then closed suddenly, 




The vision came and went, 




The light shone and was spent. 


SANTA FILOMENA 






On England's annals, through the 


Whene'er a noble deed is 


long 


wrought, 


Hereafter of her speech and 


Whene'er is spoken a noble 


song, 


thought, 


That light its rays shall cast 


Our hearts, in glad surprise, 


From portals of the past. 


To higher levels rise. 






A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 


The tidal wave of deeper souls 


In the great history of the land, 


Into our inmost being rolls, 


A noble type of good, 


And lifts us unawares 


Heroic womanhood. 


Out of all meaner cares. 






Nor even shall be wanting here 


Honor to those whose words or 


The palm, the lily, and the spear, 


deeds 


The symbols that of yore 


Thus help us in our daily needs, 


Saint Filomena bore. 



252 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE 
NORTH CAPE 

A LEAF FEOM KING ALFRED'S 
OKOSIUS 

Othere, the old sea-captain, 

Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To King Alfred, the Lover of 

Truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus- 
tooth, 
Which he held in his brown 
right hand. 

His figure was tall and stately, 

Like a boy's his eye appeared ; 
His hair was yellow as hay, 
But threads of a silvery gray 
Gleamed in his tawny beard. 10 

Hearty and hale was Othere, 
His cheek had the color of 
oak; 
With a kind of a laugh in his 

speech, 
Like the sea-tide on a beach, 
As unto the King he spoke. 

And Alfred, King of the Saxons, 
Had a book upon his knees, 

And wrote down the wondrous 
tale 

Of him who was first to sail 
Into the Arctic seas. 20 

' So far I live to the northward, 

No man lives north of me ; 
To the east are wild mountain- 
chains, 
And beyond them meres and 
plains ; 
To the westward all is sea. 

' So far I live to the northward, 
From the harbor of Skeringes- 
hale, 
If you only sailed by day, 
With a fair wind all the way, 
More than a month would you 
sail. 30 



' I own six hundred reindeer, 

With sheep and swine beside ; 
I have tribute from the Finns, 
Whalebone and reindeer-skins, 
And ropes of walrus-hide. 

' I ploughed the land with horses, 

But my heart was ill at ease, 
For the old seafaring men 
Came to me now and then, 
With their sagas of the seas ; — 40 

' Of Iceland and of Greenland, 

And the stormy Hebrides, 
And the undiscovered deep ; — 
Oh I could not eat nor sleep 
For thinking of those seas. 

' To the northward stretched the 
desert, 

How far I fain would know ; 
So at last I sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north, 

As far as the whale-ships go. 50 

' To the west of me was the ocean, 

To the right the desolate shore, 
But I did not slacken sail 
For the walrus or the whale, 
Till after three days more. 

' The days grew longer and longer, 
Till they became as one, 

And northward through the haze 

I saw the sullen blaze 
Of the' red midnight sun. 60 

' And then uprose before me, 

Upon the water's edge, 
The huge and haggard shape 
Of that unknown North Cape, 

Whose form is like a wedge. 

' The sea was rough and stormy, 

The tempest howled and wailed, 
And the sea-fog, like a ghost, 
Haunted that dreary coast, 
But onward still I sailed. 70 

' Four days I steered to eastward, 
Four days without a night : 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ 



= 53 



Bound in a fiery ring 
Went the great sun, O King, 
With red and lurid light.' 

Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, 
Ceased writing for a while'; 

And raised his eyes from his 
hook, 

With a strange and puzzled look, 
And an incredulous smile. 80 

But Othere, the old sea-captain, 
He neither paused nor stirred, 
Till the King listened, and then 
Once more took up his pen, 
And wrote clown every word. 

'And now the land,' said Othere, 
' Bent southward suddenly, 

And I followed the curving shore 

And ever soutnward bore 
Into a nameless sea. 90 

' And there we hunted the walrus, 
The nar whale, and the seal ; 

Ha ! 'twas a noble game ! 

And like the ligbtning's flame 
Flew our harpoons of steel. 

4 There were six of us all together 

Norsemen of Helgoland ; 
In two days and no more 
We killed of them threescore, 
And dragged them to the 
strand ! ' 100 

Here Alfred the Truth-teller 
Suddenly closed his book, 
And lifted his blue eyes, 
With doubt and strange surmise 
Depicted in their look. 

And Othere the old sea-captain 
Stared at him wild and weird, 
Then smiled, till his shining 
teeth 

Gleamed white from underneath 
His tawny, quivering beard, no 

And to the King of the Saxons, 
In witness of the truth, 



Baising his noble head, 
He stretched his brown hand, and 
said, 
' Behold this walrus-tooth ! ' 



DAYBEEAK 

A wind came up out of the sea, 
And said, ' O mists, make room 
for me.' 

It hailed the ships, and cried, ' Sail 

on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone.' 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, ' Awake ! it is the day.' 

It said unto the forest, ' Shout ! 
Hang all your leafy banners out ! ' 

It touched the wood-bird's folded 

wing, 
And said, ' O bird, awake and sing.' 

And o'er the farms, ' O chanticleer, 
Your clarion blow; the day is 
near.' 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 
' Bow down, and hail the coming 
morn.' 

It shouted through the belfry- 
tower, 

'Awake, O bell! proclaim the 
hour.' 

It crossed the churchyard with a 

sigh, 
And said, ' Not yet ! in quiet lie.' 



THE FIFTIETH BIETHDAY 
OF AGASSIZ 

MAY 28, 1857 

It was fifty years ago 

In the pleasant month of Ma; 
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, 

A child in its cradle lay. 



254 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And Nature, the old nurse, took 
The child upon her knee, 

Saying : ' Here is a story-book 
Thy Father has written for thee.' 

'Come, wander with me,' she said, 
' Into regions yet untrod ; 

And read what is still unread 
In the manuscripts of God.' 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 

Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed 
long, 
Or his heart began to fail, 
She would sing a more wonderful 
song, 
Or tell a more marvellous tale. 

So she keeps him still a child, 

And will not let him go, 
Though at times his heart beats 
wild 

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ; 

Though at times he hears in his 
dreams 

The Ranz des Vaches of old, 
And the rush of mountain streams 

From glaciers clear and cold; 

And the mother at home says, 
5 Hark ! 
For his voice I listen and 
yearn ; 
It is growing late and dark, 
And my boy does not return ! ' 

CHILDREN 

Come to me, O ye children ! 

For I hear you at your play. 
And the questions that perplexed 
me 

Have vanished quite away. 

Ye open the eastern windows, 
That look towards the sun, 



Where thoughts are singing swal- 
lows 
And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and 
the sunshine, 
In your thoughts the brooklet's 
flow, 
But in mine is the wind of Autumn 
And the first fall of the snow. 

Ah ! what would the world be to us 
If the children were no more ? 

We should dread the desert be- 
hind us 
Worse than the dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 
With light and air for food, 

Ere their sweet and tender juices 
Have been hardened into 
wood, — 

That to the world are children ; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

Come to me, O ye children ! 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and the winds are 
singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 

For what are all our contrivings, 
And the wisdom of our books, 

When compared with your ca- 
resses, 
And the gladness of your looks ? 

Ye are better than all the ballads 
That ever were sung or said ; 

For ye are living poems, 
And all the rest are dead. 



SANDALPHON 

Have vou read in the Talmud of 

old, 
In the Legends the Rabbins have 

told 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 



2 55 



Of the limitless realms of the air, 


And he gathers the prayers as he 


Have you read it, — the marvellous 


stands, 


story 


And they change into flowers in 


Of Sandalphon, the Angel of 


his hands, 


Glory, 


Into garlands of purple and red ; 


Sandalphon, the Angel of 


And beneath the great arch of the 


Prayer? 


portal, 




Through the streets of the City 


How. erect, at the outermost gates 


Immortal 


Of the City Celestial he waits, 


Is wafted the fragrance they 


With his feet on the ladder of 


shed. 


light, 




That, crowded with angels un- 


It is but a legend, I know, — 


numbered, 


A fable, a phantom, a show, 


By Jacob was seen, as he slum- 


Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 


bered 


Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 


Alone in the desert at night ? 


The beautiful, strange superstition, 




But haunts me and holds me the 


The Angels of Wind and of Fire 


more. 


Chant only one hymn, and expire 




With the song's irresistible 


When I look from my window at 


stress ; 


night, 


Expire in their rapture and won- 


And the welkin above is all white, 


der, 


All throbbing and panting with 


As harp-strings are broken asun- 


stars, 


der 


Among them majestic is standing 


By music they throb to express. 


Sandalphon the angel, expanding 




His pinions in nebulous bars. 


But serene in the rapturous 




throng, 


And the legend, I feel, is a part 


Unmoved by the rush of the song, 


Of the hunger and thirst of the 


With eyes unimpassioned and 


heart, 


slow, 


The frenzy and fire of the brain, 


Among the dead angels, the death- 


That grasps at the fruitage for- 


less 


bidden, 


Sandalphon stands listening 


The golden pomegranates of Eden, 


breathless 


To quiet its fever and pain. 


To sounds that ascend from be- 




low;— 






FLIGHT THE SECOND 


Prom the spirits on earth that 




adore, 


THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 


Prom the souls that entreat and 




implore 


Between the dark and the day- 


In the fervor and passion of 


light, 


prayer ; 


When the night is beginning to 


From the hearts that are broken 


lower, 


with losses, 


Comes a pause in the day's occupa- 


And weary with dragging the 


tions, 


crosses 


That is known as the Children's 


Too heavy for mortals to bear. 


Hour. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamp- 
light, 

Descending the broad hall stair, 
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 

And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence : 
Yet I know by their merry 
eyes 
They are plotting and planning to- 
gether 
To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stair- 
way, 

A sudden raid from the hall ! 
By three doors left unguarded 

They enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 
O'er the arms and back of my 
chair ; 
If I try to escape, they surround 
me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with 
kisses, . 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bing- 
en 
In his Mouse - Tower on the 
Ehine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed ban- 
ditti, 
Because you have scaled the 
wall, 
Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ! 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dun- 
geon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 



And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to 
ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 



ENCELADUS 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 

It is slumber, it is not death ; 
For he struggles at times to arise, 
And above him the lurid skies 
Are hot with his fiery breath. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 
The earth is heaped on his head ; 
But the groans of his wild unrest, 
Though smothered and half sup- 
pressed, 
Are heard, and he is not dead. 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes ; 
They talk together and say, 
' To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 
Enceladus will arise ! ' 

And the old gods, the austere 

Oppressors in their strength, 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear, 
And tremble, and mutter, 'At 
length ! ' 

Ah me ! for the land that is sown 

With the harvest of despair ! 
Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 
Enceladus, fill the air ; 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 
Over vineyard and field and town, 
Whenever he starts and lifts 
His head through the blackened 
rifts 
Of the crags that keep him 
down. 

See, see ! the red light shines ! 
'T is the glare of his awful eyes ! 



SNOW-FLAKES 



257 



And the storm-wind shouts through 

the pines 
Of Alps and of Apennines, 
' Enceladus, arise ! ' 



THE CUMBEBLAND 

At anchor in Hampton Eoads we 
lay, 
On board of the Cumberland, 
sloop-of-war ; 
And at times from the fortress 
across the bay 
The alarum of drums swept 

past, 
Or a bugle blast 
From the camp on the shore. 

Then far away to the south up- 
rose 
A little feather of snow-white 
smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of 
our foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 
Silent and sullen, the floating 
fort; 
Then comes a puff of smoke from 
her guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her 
straight 
Defiance back in a full broad- 
side ! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of 
slate, 
Eebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

'Strike your flag ! ' the rebel cries, 
In his arrogant old plantation 
strain. 



4 Never ! ' our gallant Morris re- 
plies ; 
' It is better to sink than to 

yield ! ' 
And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 

Then, like akraken huge and black, 

She crushed our ribs in her iron 

grasp ! 

Down went the Cumberland all a 

wrack, 

With a sudden shudder of 

death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over 
the bay, 
Still floated our flag at the main- 
mast head. 
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down 
in the seas ! 
Ye are at peace in the troubled 
stream ; 
Ho! brave land! with hearts like 
these, 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam ! 



SNOW-FLAKES 

Out of the bosom of the Air, 
Out of the cloud-folds of her gar- 
ments shaken, 
Over the woodlands brown and 
bare, 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
Silent, and soft, and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 
Suddenly shape in some divine 
expression, 



258 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Even as the troubled heart doth 


Blow, winds ! and waft through all 


make 


the rooms 


In the white countenance con- 


The snow - flakes of the cherry- 


fession, 


blooms ! 


The troubled sky reveals 


Blow, winds ! and bend within my 


The grief it feels. 


reach 




The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 


This is the poem of the air, 




Slowly in silent syllables re- 


Life and Love ! happy throng 


corded ; 


Of thoughts, whose only speech is 


This is the secret of despair, 


song! 


Long in its cloudy bosom hoard- 


heart of man ! canst thou not be 


ed, 


Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 


Now whispered and revealed 




To wood and field. 






SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 


A DAY OF SUNSHINE 


Labok with what zeal we will, 




Something still remains undone, 


gift of God ! perfect day : 


Something uncompleted still 


Whereon shall no man work, but 


Waits the rising of the sun. 


Play; 




Whereon it is enough for me, 


By the bedside, on the stair, 


Not to be doing, but to be ! 


At the threshold, near the gates, 




With its menace or its prayer, 


Through every fibre of my brain, 


Like a mendicant it waits ; 


Through every nerve, through 




every vein, 


Waits, and will not go away ; 


I feel the electric thrill, the touch 


Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 


Of life, that seems almost too much. 


By the cares of yesterday 




Each to-day is heavier made ; 


I hear the wind among the trees 




Playing celestial symphonies ; 


Till at length the burden seems 


I see the branches downward 


Greater than our strength can 


bent, 


/ bear, 


Like keys of some great instru- 


Heavy as the weight of dreams, 


ment. 


Pressing on us everywhere. 


And over me unrolls on high 


And we stand from day to day, 


The splendid scenery of the sky, 


Like the dwarfs of times gone 


Where through a sapphire sea the 


by, 


sun 


Who, as Northern legends say, 


Sails like a golden galleon, 


On their shoulders held the sky. 


Towards yonder cloud-land in the 




West, 


WEAEINESS 


Towards yonder Islands of the 




Blest, 


little feet! that such long 


Whose steep sierra far uplifts 


years 


Its craggy summits white with 


Must wander on through hopes 


drifts. 


and fears, 



PRELUDE 



259 



Must ache and bleed beneath 
your load ; 
I, nearer to the wayside inn 
Where toil shall cease and rest be- 
gin, 
Am weary, thinking of your 
road ! 

O little hands ! that, weak or 

strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so 

long, 
Have still so long to give or 

ask; 
I, who so much with book and 

pen 
Have toiled among my fellow-men, 
Am weary, thinking of your 

task. 



O little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish 
heat, 
Such limitless and strong de- 
sires ; 
Mine, that so long has glowed and 

burned, 
With passions into ashes turned, 
Now covers and conceals its fires. 

O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light 
Direct from heaven, their source 
divine ; 
Refracted through the mist of 

years, 
How red my setting sun appears, 
How lurid looks this soul of 
mine! 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



PART FIRST 



PRELUDE 
THE WAYSIDE INN 

One Autumn night, in Sudbury 

town, 
Across the meadows bare and 

brown, 
The windows of the wayside inn 
Gleamed red with fire - light 

through the leaves 
Of woodbine, hanging from the 

eaves 
Their crimson curtains rent and 

thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 
As any in the land may be, 
Built in the old Colonial day, 
When men lived in a grander 
way, 10 

With ampler hospitality ; 
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 
Now somewhat fallen to decay, 



With weather - stains upon the 

wall, 
And stairways worn, and crazy 

doors, 
And creaking and uneven floors, 
And chimneys huge, and tiled and 

tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 

A place of slumber and of dreams, 

Remote among the wooded hills ! 

For there no noisy railway speeds, 

Its torch -race scattering smoke 
and gleeds ; 22 

But noon and night, the panting 
teams 

Stop under the great oaks, that 
throw 

Tangles of light and shade be- 
low, 

On roofs and doors and window- 
sills. 

Across the road the barns dis- 
play 



z6o 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Their lines of stalls, their mows of 

hay, 
Through the wide doors the 

breezes blow, 
The wattled cocks strut to and 

fro, 30 

And, half effaced by rain and 

shine, 
The Red Horse prances on the 

sign. 
Round this old-fashioned, quaint 

abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when 

a gust 
Weni; rushing down the county 

road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance 

of death, 
And through the ancient oaks o'er- 

head 
Mysterious voices moaned and 

fled. 40 

But from the parlor of the inn 

A pleasant murmur smote the ear, 

Like water rushing through a weir : 

Oft interrupted by the din 

Of laughter and of loud applause, 

And, in each intervening pause, 

The music of a violin. 

The fire-light, shedding over all 

The splendor of its ruddy glow, 

Filled the whole parlor large and 

low ; 50 

It gleamed on wainscot and on 

wall, 
It touched with more than wonted 

grace 
Fair Princess Mary's pictured 

face ; 
It bronzed the rafters overhead, 
On the old spinet's ivory keys 
It played inaudible melodies, 
It crowned the sombre clock with 

flame, 
The hands, the hours, the maker's 

name, 
And painted with a livelier red 59 
The Landlord's coat-of-arms again ; 



And, flashing on the window-pane, 
Emblazoned with its light and 

shade 
The jovial rhymes, that still re- 
main, 
Writ near a century ago, 
By the great Major Molineaux, 
Whom Hawthorne has immortal 
made. 

Before the blazing fire of wood 
Erect the rapt musician stood ; 
And ever and anon he bent 
His head upon his instrument, 70 
And seemed to listen, till he 

caught 
Confessions of its secret thought,— 
The joy, the triumph, the lament, 
The exultation and the pain ; 
Then, by the magic of his art, 
He soothed the throbbings of its 

heart, 
And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at their ease 
There sat a group of friends, en- 
tranced 
With the delicious melodies ; 80 
Who from the far-off noisy town 
Had to the wayside inn come down, 
To rest beneath its old oak trees. 
The fire-light on their faces 

glanced, 
Their shadows on the wainscot 

danced, 
And, though of different lands and 

speech, 
Each had his tale to tell, and each 
Was anxious to be pleased and 

please. 
And while the sweet musician 

plays, 89 

Let me in outline sketch them 

all, 
Perchance uncouthly as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the 

wall. 

But first the Landlord will I trace; 
Grave in his aspect and attire ; 



PRELUDE 



261 



A man of ancient pedigree, 
A Justice of the Peace was he, 
Known in all Sudbury as ' The 

Squire.' 
Proud was he of his name and 

race, 99 

Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 
And in the parlor, full in view, 
His coat-of-arms, well framed and 

glazed, 
Upon the wall in colors blazed ; 
He beareth gules upon his shield, 
A chevron argent in the field, 
With three wolf's-heads, and for 

the crest 
A Wy vern part-per-pale addressed 
Upon a helmet barred ; below 
The scroll reads, ' By the name of 

Howe.' 109 

And over this, no longer bright, 
Though glimmering with a latent 

light, 
Was hung the sword his grandsire 

bore 
In the rebellious days of yore, 
Down there at Concord in the fight. 

A youth was there, of quiet ways, 
A Student of old books and days, 
To whom all tongues and lands 

were known, 
And yet a lover of his own ; 
With many a social virtue graced, 
And yet a friend of solitude ; 120 
A man of such a genial mood 
The heart of all things he em- 
braced, 
And yet of such fastidious taste, 
He never found the best too good. 
Books were his passion and de- 
light, 
And in his upper room at home 
Stood many a rare and sumptuous 

tome, 
In vellum bound, with gold be- 

dight, 
Great volumes garmented in white, 
Pecalling Florence, Pisa, Kome. 
He loved the twilight that sur- 
rounds 131 
The border-land of old romance ; 



Where glitter hauberk, helm, and 

lance, 
And banner waves, and trumpet 

sounds, 
And ladies ride with hawk on 

wrist, 
And mighty warriors sweep along, 
Magnified by the purple mist, 
The dusk of centuries and of song. 
The chronicles of Charlemagne, 
Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, 
Mingled together in his brain 141 
With tales of Flores and Blanche- 

fleur, 
Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, 
Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, 
Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. 

A young Sicilian, too, was there ; 
In sight of Etna born and bred, 
Some breath of its volcanic air 
Was glowing in his heart and 

brain, 149 

And, being rebellious to his liege, 
After Palermo's fatal siege, 
Across the western seas he fled, 
In good King Bomba's happy 

reign. 
His face was like a summer night, 
All flooded with a dusky light ; 
His hands were small; his teeth 

shone white 
As sea-shells, when he smiled or 

spoke ; 
His sinews supple and strong as 

oak; 
Clean shaven was he as a priest, 
Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 
Save that upon his upper lip 161 
His beard, a good palm's length at 

least, 
Level and pointed at the tip, 
Shot sideways, like a swallow's 

wings. 
The poets read he o'er and o'er, 
And most of all the Immortal Four 
Of Italy ; and next to those, 
The story-telling bard of prose, 
Who wrote the joyous Tuscan 

tales 
Of the Decameron, that make 170 



262 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Fiesole's green hills and vales 
Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. 
Much too of music was his 

thought ; 
The melodies and measures 

fraught 
With sunshine and the open air, 
Of vineyards and the singing sea 
Of his beloved Sicily ; 
And much it pleased him to peruse 
The songs of the Sicilian muse,— 
Bucolic songs by Meli sung 180 
In the familiar peasant tongue, 
That made men say, 'Behold! 

once more 
The pitying gods to earth restore 
Theocritus of Syracuse ! ' 

A Spanish Jew from Alicant 
With aspect grand and grave was 

there ; 
Vender of silks and fabrics rare, 
And attar of rose from the Le- 
vant. 
Like an old Patriarch he appeared, 
Abraham or Isaac, or at least 190 
• Some later Prophet or High - 

Priest ; 
With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, 
And, wildly tossed from cheeks 

and chin, 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 
His garments breathed a spicy 

scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent, 
Like the soft aromatic gales 
That meet the mariner, who sails 
Through the Moluccas, and the 

seas 199 

That wash the shores of Celebes. 
All stories that recorded are 
By Pierre Alphonse he knew by 

heart, 
And it was rumored he could say 
The Parables of Sandabar, 
And all the Fables of Pilpay, 
Or if not all, the greater part ! 
Well versed was he in Hebrew 

books, 
Talmud and Targum, and the lore 
Of Kabala ; and evermore 209 



There was a mystery in his looks; 
His eyes seemed gazing far away, 
As if in vision or in trance 
He heard the solemn sackbut play, 
And saw the Jewish maidens 
dance. 

A Theologian, from the school 
Of Cambridge on the Charles, was 

there ; 
Skilful alike with tongue and pen, 
He preached to all men everywhere 
The Gospel of the Golden Rule, 
The New Commandment given to 

men, 220 

Thinking the deed, and not the 

creed, 
Would help us in our utmost need. 
With reverent feet the earth he 

' trod, 
Nor banished nature from his plan, 
But studied still with deep re« 

search 
To build the Universal Church, 
Lofty as is the love of God, 
And ample as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose 

verse 229 

Was tender, musical, and terse ; 
The inspiration, the delight, 
The gleam, the glory, the swift 

flight 
Of thoughts so sudden, that they 

seem 
The revelations of a dream, 
All these were his ; but with them 

came 
No envy of another's fame ; 
He did not find his sleep less 

sweet 
For music in some neighboring 

street, 
Nor rustling hear in every breeze 
The laurels of Miltiades. 240 

Honor and blessings on his head 
While living, good report when 

dead, 
Who, not too eager for renown, 
Accepts, but does not clutch, the 



PRELUDE 



263 



Last the Musician, as he stood 
Illumined by that fire of wood ; 
Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect 

blithe, 
His figure tall and straight and 

lithe, 
And every feature of his face 
Revealing his Norwegian race ; 250 
A radiance, streaming from within, 
Around his eyes and forehead 

beamed, 
The Angel with the violin, 
Painted by Raphael, he seemed. 
He lived in that ideal world 
Whose language is not speech, but 

song; 
Around him evermore the throng 
Of elves and sprites their dances 

whirled ; 
The Stromkarl sang, the cataract 

hurled 
Its headlong waters from the 
height ; 260 

And mingled in the wild delight 
The scream of sea-birds in their 

flight, 
The rumor of the forest trees, 
The plunge of the implacable 

seas, 
The tumult of the wind at night, 
Voices of eld, like trumpets blow- 
ing, 
Old ballads, and wild melodies 
Through mist and darkness pour- 
ing forth, 
Like Elivagar's river flowing 
Outof the glaciers of the North. 270 

The instrument on which he played 
Was in Cremona's workshops 

made, 
By a great master of the past, 
Ere yet was lost the art divine ; 
Fashioned of maple and of pine. 
That in Tyrolean forests vast 
Had rocked and wrestled with the 

blast : 
Exquisite was it in design, 
Perfect in each minutest part, 
A marvel of the lutist's art; 280 
And in its hollow chamber, thus, 



The maker from whose hands it 

came 
Had written his unrivalled 

name, — 

' Antonius Stradivarius.' 

And when he played, the atmo- 
sphere 

Was filled with magic, and the 
ear 

Caught echoes of that Harp of 
Golcb 

Whose music had so weird a sound, 

The hunted stag forgot to bound, 

The leaping rivulet backward 
rolled, 290 

The birds came down from bush 
and tree, 

The dead came from beneath the 
sea, 

The maiden to the harper's knee ! 

The music ceased; the applause 

was loud, 
The pleased musician smiled and 

bowed ; 
The wood-fire clapped its hands of 

flame, 
The shadows on the wainscot 

stirred, 
And from the harpsichord there 

came 
A ghostly murmur of acclaim, 
A sound like that sent down at 

night 300 

By birds of passage in their flight, 
From the remotest distance heard. 

Then silence followed ; then be- 
gan 
A clamor for the Landlord's 

tale,— 
The story promised them of old, 
They said, but always left un- 
told ; 
And he. although a bashful man, 
And all his courage seemed to 

fail. 
Finding excuse of no avail, 
Yielded; and thus the story 
ran. 3 10 



264 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



THE LANDLOED'S TALE 
PAUL REVBEE'S RIDE 

Listen, my children, and you 
shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Re- 
vere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in 
Seventy-five ; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day 
and year. 

He said to his friend, • If the Brit 

ish march 
By land or sea from the town to- 
night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry 

arch 
Of the North Church tower as a 

signal light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by 

sea ; 10 

And I on the opposite shore will 

be, 
Ready to ride and spread the 

alarm 
Through every Middlesex village 

and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and 

to arm.' 

Then he said, ' Good night ! ' and 
with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charles- 
town shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the 
bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moor- 
ings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of- 
war; 

A phantom ship, with each mast 
and spar 20 

Across the moon like a prison 
bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was 
magnified 

By its own reflection in the 
tide. 



Meanwhile, his friend, through 

alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager 

ears, 
Till in the silence around him he 

hears 
The muster of men at the barrack 

door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp 

of feet, 
And the measured tread of the 

grenadiers, 
Marching down to their boats on 

the shore. 30 

Then he climbed the tower of the 

Old North Church, 
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy 

tread, 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from 

their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round 

him made 
Masses and moving shapes of 

shade, — 
By the trembling ladder, steep and 

tall, 
To the highest window in the 

wall, 
Where he paused to listen and 

look down 
A moment on the roofs of the 

town, 40 

And the moonlight flowing over 

all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay 
the dead, 

In their night-encampment on the 
hill, 

Wrapped in silence so deep and 
still 

That he could hear, like a senti- 
nel's tread, 

The watchful night -wind, as it 
went 

Creeping along from tent to tent, 

And seeming to whisper, 'All is 
well ! ' 

A moment only he feels the spell 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



265 



Of the place and the hour, and the 

secret dread 50 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 
For suddenly all his thoughts are 

bent 
On a shadowy something far away, 
Where the river widens to meet 

the bay, — 
A line of black that bends and 

floats 
On the rising tide, like a bridge of 

boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount 
and ride, 

Booted and spurred, with a heavy 
stride 

On the opposite shore walked 
Paul Revere. 

Now he patted his horse's side, 60 

Now gazed at the landscape far 
and near, 

Then, impetuous, stamped the 
earth, 

And turned and tightened his sad- 
dle-girth ; 

But mostly he watched with eager 
search 

The belfry-tower of the Old North 
Church, 

As it rose above the graves on the 
hill, 

Lonely and spectral and sombre 
and still. 

And lo! as he looks, on the bel- 
fry's height 

A glimmer, and then a gleam of 
light ! 

He springs to the saddle, the bri- 
dle he turns, 70 

But lingers and gazes, till full on 
his sight 

A second lamp in the belfry 
burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village 

street, 
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk 

in the dark, 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in 

passing, a spark 



Struck out by a steed flying fear- 
less and fleet : 

That was all! And yet, through 
the gloom and the light, 

The fate of a nation was riding 
that night ; 

And the spark struck out by that 
steed, in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with 
its heat. 80 

fie has left the village and mounted 

the steep, 
And beneath him, tranquil an<J 

broad and deep, 
Is the Mystic, meeting the oceaiL 

tides ; 
And under the alders that skirt its 

edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on 

the ledge, 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as 

he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock, 
When he crossed the bridge into 

Medford town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
And the barking of the farmer's 

dog, 90 

And felt the damp of the river 

fog, 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock, 
When he galloped into Lexington. 
He saw the gilded weathercock 
Swim in the moonlight as he 

passed, 
And the meeting-house windows, 

blank and bare, 
Gaze at him with a spectral 

glare, 
As if they already stood aghast 
At the bloody work they would 

look upon. 100 

It was two by the village clock, 
When he came to the bridge in 

Concord town. 
He heard the bleating of the flock, 



266 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And the twitter of birds among 

the trees, 
And felt the breath of the morning 

breeze 
Blowing over the meadows brown. 
And one was safe and asleep in 

his bed 
Who at the bridge would be first 

to fall, 
Who that day would be lying dead, 
Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books 
you have read, iii 

How the British Eegulars fired 
and fled, — 

How the farmers gave them ball 
for ball, 

From behind each fence and farm- 
yard wall, 

Chasing the red-coats down the 
lane, 

Then crossing the fields to emerge 
again 

Under the trees at the turn of the 
road, ' 

And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul 

Revere ; 
And so through the night went his 

cry of alarm 120 

To every Middlesex village and 

farm, — 
A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
A voice in the darkness, a knock 

at the door, 
And a word that shall echo for- 

evermore ! 
For, borne on the night-wind of 

the Past, 
Through all our history, to the 

last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril 

and need, 
The people will waken and listen 

to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that 

steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul 

Revere. ■ 130 



INTERLUDE 

The Landlord ended thus his 

tale, 
Then rising took down from its 

nail 
The sword that hung there, dim 

with dust, 
And cleaving to its sheath with 

rust, 
And said, ' This sword was in the 

fight.' 
The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, 
' It is the sword of a good knight, 
Though homespun was his coat-of- 

mail ; 
What matter if it be not named 
Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, 
Excalibar, or Aroundight, 
Or other name the books record ? 
Your ancestor, who bore this 

sword 
As Colonel of the Volunteers, 
Mounted upon his old gray mare, 
Seen here and there and every- 
where, 
To me a grander shape appears 
Than old Sir William, or what not, 
Clinking about in foreign lands 
With iron gauntlets on his hands, 
And on his head an iron pot ! ' 

All laughed; the Landlord's face 
grew red 

As his escutcheon on the wall ; 

He could not comprehend at all 

The drift of what the Poet said ; 

For those who had been longest 
dead 

Were always greatest in his eyes ; 

And he was speechless with sur- 
prise 

To see Sir William's plumed head 

Brought to a level with the rest, 

And made the subject of a jest. 

And this perceiving, to appease 

The Landlord's wrath, the others' 
fears, 

The Student said, with careless 
ease, 

' The ladies and the cavaliers, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



267 



The arms, the loves, the courte- 
sies, 
The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! 
Thus Ariosto says, in words 
That have the stately stride and 

ring 
Of armed knights and clashing 

swords. 
Now listen to the tale I bring ; 
Listen ! though not to me belong 
The flowing draperies of his song, 
The words that rouse, the voice 

that charms. 
The Landlord's tale was one of 

arms, 
Only a tale of love is mine, 
Blending the human and divine, 
1 A tale of the Decameron, told 
In Palmieri's garden old, 
By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, 
While her companions lay around, 
And heard the intermingled sound 
Of airs that on their errands 

sped, 
And wild birds gossiping over- 
head, 
And lisp of leaves, and fountain's 

fall, 
And her own voice more sweet 

than all, 
Telling the tale, which, wanting 

these, 
Perchance may lose its power to 
please.' 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO 

One summer morning, when the 
sun was hot, 

"Weary with labor- in his garden- 
plot, 

On a rude bench beneath his cot- 
tage eaves, 

Ser Federigo sat among the leaves 

Of a huge vine, that, with its arms 
outspread, 

Hung its delicious clusters over- 
head. 



Below him, through the lovely 
Galley, flowed 

The river Arno, like a winding 
road, 

And from its banks were lifted 
high in air 

The spires and roofs of Florence 
called the Fair ; 10 

To him a marble tomb, that rose 
above 

His wasted fortunes and his 
buried love. 

For there, in banquet and in tour- 
nament, 

His wealth had lavished been, his 
substance spent, 

To woo and lose, since ill his woo- 
ing sped, 

Monna Giovanna, who his rival 
wed, 

Yet ever in his fancy reigned su- 
preme, 

The ideal woman of a young man's 
dream. 

Then he withdrew, in poverty and 
pain, 

To this small farm, the last of his 
domain, 20 

His only comfort and his only 
care 

To prune his vines, and plant the 
fig and pear ; 

His only forester and only guest 

His falcon, faithful to him, when 
the rest, 

Whose willing hands had found so 
light of yore 

The brazen knocker of his palace 
door, 

Had now no strength to lift the 
wooden latch, 

That entrance gave beneath a roof 
of thatch. 

Companion of his solitary ways, 

Purveyor of his feasts on holi- 
days, 30 

On him this melancholy man be- 
stowed 

The love with which his nature 
overflowed. 



268 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And so the empty-handed years 


Through all the haunted chambers 


went round, 


of his heart, 


Vacant, though voiceful with pro- 


As an seolian harp through gusty 


phetic sound, 


doors 


And so, that summer morn, he sat 


Of some old ruin its wild, music 


and mused 


pours. 60 


"With folded, patient hands, as he 


- 


was used, 


' Who is thy mother, my fair boy ? ' 


And dreamily before his half- 


he said, 


closed sight 


His hand laid softly on that shin- 


Floated the vision of his lost de- 


ing head. 


light. 


'Monna Giovanna. Will you let 


Beside him, motionless, the drowsy 


me stay 


bird 


A little while, and with your fal- 


Dreamed of the chase, and in his 


con play ? 


slumber heard 40 


We live there, just beyond your 


The sudden, scythe-like sweep of 


garden wail, 


wings, that dare 


In the great house behind the pop- 


The headlong plunge through ed- 


lars tall.' 


dying gulfs of air, 




Then, starting broad awake upon 


So he spake on ; and Federigo 


his perch, 


heard 


Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells 


As from afar each softly uttered 


in a church, 


word, 


And looking at his master, seemed 


And drifted onward through the 


to say, 


golden gleams 


1 Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to- 


And shadows of the misty sea of 


day?' 


dreams, 70 




As mariners becalmed through 


Ser Federigo thought not of the 


vapors drift, 


chase ; 


And feel the sea beneath them 


The tender vision of her lovely 


sink and lift. 


face, 


And hear far off the mournful 


I will not say he seems to see, he 


breakers roar, 


sees 


And voices calling faintly from the 


In the leaf-shadows of the trel- 


shore ! 


lises, 50 


Then waking from his pleasant 


Herself, yet not herself ; a lovely 


reveries, 


child 


He took the little boy upon his 


With flowing tresses, and eyes 


knees, 


wide and wild, 


And told him stories of his gallant 


Coming undaunted up the garden 


bird, 


walk, 


Till in their friendship he became 


And looking not at him, but at the 


a third. 


hawk. 




' Beautiful falcon ! ' said he, ' would 


Monna Giovanna, widowed in her 


that I 


prime, 


Might hold thee on my wrist, or 


Had come with friends to pass the 


see thee fly ! ' 


summer time 80 


The voice was hers, and made 


In her grand villa, half-way up the 


strange echoes start 


hill, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



269 



O'erlooking Florence, but retired 

and still ; 
With iron gates, that opened 

through long lines 
Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, 
And terraced gardens, and broad 

steps of stone, 
And sylvan deities, with moss o'er- 

grown, 
And fountains palpitating in the 

heat, 
And all Val d'Arno stretched be- 
neath its feet. 
Here in seclusion, as a widow may, 
The lovely lady whiled the hours 

away, 90 

Pacing in sable robes the statued 

hall, 
Herself the stateliest statue among 

all, 
And seeing more and more, with 

secret joy, 
Her husband risen and living in 

her boy, 
Till tbe lost sense of life returned 

again, 
Not as delight, but as relief from 

pain. 
Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in 

his strength, 
Stormed down the terraces from 

length to length ; 
The screaming peacock chased in 

hot pursuit, 
And climbed the garden trellises 

for fruit. 100 

But his chief pastime was to watch 

the flight 
Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, 
Beyond the trees that fringed the 

garden wall, 
Then downward stooping at some 

distant call ; 
And as he gazed full often won- 
dered he 
Who might the master of the fal- 
con be, 
Until that happy morning, when 

he found 
Master and falcon in the cottage 

ground. 



And now a shadow and a terror fell 

On the great house, as if a pass- 
ing-bell no 

Tolled from the tower, and filled 
each spacious room 

With secret awe and preternatural 
gloom ; 

The petted boy grew ill, and day 
by day 

Pined with mysterious malady 
away. 

The mother's heart would not be 
comforted ; 

Her darling seemed to her already 
dead, 

And often, sitting by the sufferer's 
side, 

' What can I do to comfort thee ? ' 
she cried. 

At first the silent lips made no 
reply, 

But, moved at length by her im- 
portunate cry, 120 

' Give me,' he answered, with im- 
ploring tone, 
Ser Federigo's falcon for my own ! : 

No answer could the astonished 

mother make ; 
How could she ask, e'en for her 

darling's sake, 
Such favor at a luckless lover's 

hand, 
Well knowing that to ask was to 

command ? 
Well knowing, what all falconers 

confessed, 
In all the land that falcon was the 

best, 
The master's pride and passion 

and delight, 
And the sole pursuivant of this 

poor knight. 130 

But yet, for her child's sake, she 

could no less 
Than give assent, to soothe his 

restlessness, 
So promised, and then promising 

to keep 
Her promise sacred, saw him fall 

asleep. 



270 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The morrow was a bright Septem- 
ber morn ; 

The earth was beautiful as if new- 
born ; 

There was that nameless splendor 
everywhere, 

That wild exhilaration in the air, 

Which makes the passers in the 
city street 

Congratulate each other as they 
meet. 140 

Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak 
and hood, 

Passed through the garden gate 
into the wood, 

Under the lustrous leaves, and 
through the sheen 

Of dewy sunshine showering down 
between. 

The one, close-hooded, had the at- 
tractive grace 

Which sorrow sometimes lends a 
woman's face ; 

Her dark eyes moistened with the 
mists that roll 

From the gulf-stream of passion 
in the soul ; 

The other with her hood thrown 
back, her hair 

Making a golden glory in the air, 

Her cheeks suffused with an auro- 
ral blush, 151 

Her young heart singing louder 
than the thrush, 

So walked, that morn, through 
mingled light and shade, 

Each by the other's presence love- 
lier made, 

Monna Giovanna and her bosom 
friend, 

Intent upon their errand and its 
end. 

They found Ser Federigo at his 
toil, 

Like banished Adam, delving in 
the soil ; 

And when he looked and these fair 
women spied, 

The garden suddenly was glori- 
fied ; 160 



His long-lost Eden was restored 
again, 

And the strange river winding 
through the plain 

No longer was the Arno to his eyes, 

But the Euphrates watering Para- 
dise ! 

Monna Giovanna raised her stately 

head, 
And with fair words of salutation 

said : 
' Ser Federigo, we come here as 

friends, 
Hoping in this to make some poor 

amends 
For past unkindness. I who ne'er 

before 
Would even cross the threshold of 

your door, 170 

I who in happier days such pride 

maintained, 
Kef used your banquets, and your 

gifts disdained, 
This morning come, a self-invited 

guest, 
To put your generous nature to 

the test, 
And breakfast with you under 

your own vine.' 
To which he answered : ' Poor 

desert of mine, 
Not your unkindness call it, for if 

aught 
Is good in me of feeling or of 

thought, 
From you it conies, and this last 

grace outweighs 
All sorrows, all regrets of other 

days.' 180 

And after further compliment and 
talk, 

Among the asters in the garden 
walk 

He left his guests ; and to his cot- 
tage turned, 

And as he entered for a moment 
yearned 

For the lost splendors of the days 
of old, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



271 



The ruby glass, the silver and the 

gold, 
And felt how piercing is the sting 

of pride, 
By want embittered and intensi- 
fied. 
He looked about him for some 

means or way 
To keep this unexpected holi- 
day ; 190 
Searched every cupboard, and 

then searched again, . 
Summoned the maid, who came, 

but came in vain ; 
4 The Signor did not hunt to-day,' 

she said, 
1 There 's nothing in the house but 

wine and bread.' 
Then suddenly the drowsy falcon 

shook 
His little bells, with that sagacious 

look, 
Which said, as plain as language 

to the ear, 
'If anything is wanting, I am 

here ! ' 
i T es, everything is wanting, gallant 

bird! 
The master seized thee without 

further word. 200 

Like thine own lure, he whirled 

thee round ; ah me ! 
The pomp and flutter of brave fal- 
conry, 
The bells, the jesses, the bright 

scarlet hood, 
The flight and the pursuit o'er field 

and wood, 
All these forevermore are ended 

now; 
No longer victor, but the victim 

thou! 

Then on the board a snow-white 
cloth he spread, 

Laid on its wooden dish the loaf 
of bread, 

Brought purple grapes with au- 
tumn sunshine hot, . 

The fragrant peach, the juicy ber- 
gamot; 210 



Then in the midst a flask of wine 
he placed 

And with autumnal flowers the 
banquet graced. 

Ser Federigo, would not these suf- 
fice 

Without thy falcon stuffed with 
cloves and spice ? 

When all was ready, and the 

courtly dame 
With her companion to the cottage 

came, 
Upon Ser Federigo's brain there 

fell 
The wild enchantment of a magic 

spell ! 
The room they entered, mean and 

low and small, 
Was changed into a sumptuous 

banquet-hall, 220 

With fanfares by aerial trumpets 

blown ; 
The rustic chair she sat on was a 

throne : 
He ate celestial food, and a divine 
Flavor was given to his country 

wine, 
And the poor falcon, fragrant with 

his spice, 
A peacock was, or bird of para- 
dise ! 

When the repast was ended, they 
arose 

And passed again into the garden- 
close. 

Then said the lady, ' Far too well I 
know, 

Kemembering still the days of long 
ago, 230 

Though you betray it not, with 
what surprise 

You see me here in this familiar 
wise. 

You have no children, and you can 
not guess 

What anguish, what unspeakable 
distress 

A mother feels, whose child is ly- 
ing ill, 



272 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Nor how her heart anticipates his 

will. 
And yet for this, you see me lay 

aside 
All womanly reserve and check of 

pride, 
And ask the thing most precious 

in your sight, 
Your falcon, your sole comfort and 

delight, 240 

Which if you find it in your heart 

to give, 
My poor, unhappy boy perchance 

may live.' 

Ser Federigo listens, and replies, 
With tears of love and pity in his 

eyes: 
' Alas, dear lady ! there can be no 

task 
So sweet to me, as giving when 

you ask. 
One little hour ago, if I had 

known 
This wish of yours, it would have 

been my own. 
But thinking in what manner I 

could best 
Do honor to the presence of my 

guest, 250 

I deemed that nothing worthier 

could be 
Than what most dear and precious 

was to me ; 
And so my gallant falcon breathed 

his last 
To furnish forth this morning our 

repast.' 

In mute contrition, mingled with 

dismay, 
The gentle lady turned her eyes 

away, 
Grieving that he such sacrifice 

should make 
And kill his falcon for a woman's 

sake, 
Yet feeling in her heart a woman's 

pride, 
That nothing she could ask for 

was denied ; 260 



Then took her leave, and passed 
out at the gate 

With footsteps slow and soul dis- 
consolate. 

Three days went by, and lo! a 

passing-bell 
Tolled from the little chapel in the 

dell; 
Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, 

and said, 
Breathing a prayer, ' Alas ! her 

child is dead ! ' 
Three months went by ; and lo ! a 

merrier chime 
Kang from the chapel bells at 

Christmas-time ; 
The cottage was deserted, and no 

more 
Ser Federigo sat beside its door, 
But now, with servitors to do his 

will, 271 

In the grand villa, half-way up the 

hill, 
Sat at the Christmas feast, and at 

his side 
Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 
Never so beautiful, so kind, so 

fair, 
Enthroned once more in the old 

rustic chair, 
High-perched upon the back of 

which there stood 
The image of a falcon carved in 

wood, 
And underneath the inscription, 

with a date, 
' All things come round to him who 

will but wait.' 280 



INTEELUDE 

Soon as the story reached its end, 
One, over eager to commend, 
Crowned it with injudicious praise ; 
And then the voice of blame found 

vent, 
And fanned the embers of dis- 
sent 
Into a somewhat lively blaze. 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 



273 



The Theologian shook his head ; 
' These old Italian tales,' he said, 
'From the much-praised Decam- 
eron down 
Through all the rahble of the rest, 
Are either trifling, dull, or lewd; 
The gossip of a neighborhood 
In some remote provincial town, 
A scandalous chronicle at best ! 
They seem to me a stagnant fen, 
Grown rank with rushes and with 

reeds, 
Where a white lily, now and then, 
Blooms in the midst of noxious 

weeds 
And deadly nightshade on its 
banks ! ' 

To this the Student straight re- 
plied, 

' For the white lily, many thanks ! 

One should not say, with too much 
pride, 

Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! 

Nor were it grateful to forget 

That from these reservoirs and 
tanks 

Even imperial Shakespeare drew 

His Moor of Venice, and the Jew, 

And Borneo and Juliet, 

And many a famous comedy.' 

Then a long pause ; till some one 

said, 
' An Angel is flying overhead ! ' 
At these words spake the Spanish 

Jew, 
And murmured with an inward 

breath : 
'God grant, if what you say be 

true, 
It may not be the Angel of Death ! ' 
And then another pause ; and 

then, 
Stroking his beard, he said again : 
' This brings back to my memory 
A story in the Talmud told, 
That book of gems, that book of 

gold, 
Of wonders many and manifold, 
A tale that often comes to me, 



And fills my heart, and haunts my 

brain, 
And never wearies nor grows old.' 



THE SFANISH JEW'S TALE 

THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN 
LEVI 

Babbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, 

read 
A volume of the Law, in which it 

said, 
' No man shall look upou my face 

and live.' 
And as he read, he prayed that 

God would give 
His faithful servant grace with 

mortal eye 
To look upon His face and yet not 

die. 

Then fell a sudden shadow on the 

page, 
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim 

with age, 
He saw the Angel of Death before 

him stand, 
Holding a naked sword in his right 

hand. 10 

Babbi Ben Levi was a righteous 

man, 
Yet through his veins a chill of 

terror ran. 
With trembling voice he said, 

' What wi^t thou here ? ' 
The Angel answered, 'Lo! the 

time draws near 
When thou must die ; yet first, by 

God's decree, 
Whate'er thou askest shall be 

granted thee.' 
Beplied the Babbi, ' Let these liv- 
ing eyes 
First look upon my place in Para- 

dise.' 

Then said the Angel, ' Come with 

me and look.' 
Babbi Ben Levi closed the sacred 

book, 20 



274 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And rising, and uplifting his gray 

head, 
'Give me thy sword,' he to the 

Angel said, 
' Lest thou shouldst fall upon me 

by the way.' 
The Angel smiled and hastened to 

ohey, 
Then led him forth to the Celestial 

Town, 
And set him on the wall, whence, 

gazing down, 
Kabhi Ben Levi, with his living 

eyes, 
Might look upon his place in Para- 
dise. 



Then straight into the city of the 
Lord 

The Rabbi leaped with the Death- 
Angel's sword, 30 

And through the streets there 
swept a sudden breath 

Of something there unknown, 
which men call death. 

Meanwhile the Angel stayed with- 
out, and cried, 

'Come back!' To which the 
Rabbi's voice replied, 

' No ! in the name of God, whom I 
adore, 

I swear that hence I will depart 
no more ! ' 

Then all the AngeKcried, ' O Holy 

One, 
See what the son of Levi here 

hath done ! 
The kingdom of Heaven he takes 

by violence, 
And in Thy name refuses to go 

hence ! ' 40 

The Lord replied, ' My Angels, be 

not wroth ; 
Did e'er the son of Levi break his 

oath ? 
Let him remain ; for he with mor- 
tal eye 
Shall look upon my face and yet 

not die.' 



Beyond the outer wall the Angel 

of Death 
Heard the great voice, and said, 

with panting breath, 
' Give back the sword, and let me 

go my way.' 
Whereat the Rabbi paused, and 

answered, ' Nay ! 
Anguish enough already hath it 

caused 
Among the sons of men.' And 

while he paused 50 

He heard the awful mandate of the 

Lord 
Resounding through the air, ' Give 

back the sword ! ' 



The Rabbi bowed his head in si- 
lent prayer, 

Then said he to the dreadful Angel, 
' Swear 

No human eye shall look on it 
again ; 

But when thou takest away the 
souls of men, 

Thyself unseen, and with an un- 
seen sword, 

Thou wilt perform the bidding of 
the Lord.' 

The Angel took the sword again, 
and swore, 

And walks on earth unseen for- 
evermore. 60 



INTERLUDE 

He ended : and a kind of spell 
Upon the silent listeners fell. 
His solemn manner and his words 
Had touched the deep, mysterious 

chords 
That vibrate in each human breast 
Alike, but not alike confessed. 
The spiritual world seemed near ; 
And close above them, full of fear, 
Its awful adumbration passed, 
A luminous shadow, vague and 

vast. 
They almost feared to look, lest 

there. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



275 



Embodied from the impalpable air, 
They might behold the Angel 

stand, 
Holding the sword in his right 

hand. 

At last, but in a voice subdued, 
Not to disturb their dreamy mood, 
Said the Sicilian : ' While you 

spoke, 
Telling your legend marvellous, 
Suddenly in my memory woke 
The thought of one, now gone 

from us, — 
An old Abate, meek and mild, 
My friend and teacher, when a 

child, 
Who sometimes in those days of 

old 
The legend of an Angel told, 
Which ran, as I remember, thus.' 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope 

Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Alle- 

maine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
With retinue of many a knight and 

squire, 
On St. John's eve, at vespers, 

proudly sat 
And heard the priests chant the 

Magnificat. 
And as he listened, o'er and o'er 

again 
Rej)eated, like a burden or re- 
frain, 
He caught the words, ' Deposuit 

potentes 
JDe sede, et exaltavit humiles ; ' 10 
And slowly lifting up his kingly 

head 
He to a learned clerk beside him 

said, 
'What mean these words?' The 

clerk made answer meet, 



' He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low de- 
gree.' 
Thereat King Robert muttered 

scornfully, 
' ' T is well that such seditious 

words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin 

tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it 

known, 
There is no power can push me 

from my throne ." 20 

And leaning back, he yawned and 

fell asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous 

and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already 

night ; 
The church was empty, and there 

was no light, 
Save where the lamps, that glim- 
mered few and faint, 
Lighted a little space before some 

saint. 
He started from his seat and gazed 

around, 
But saw no living thing and heard 

no sound. 
He groped towards the door, but 

it was locked ; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and 

then knocked, 30 

And uttered awful threatenings 

and complaints, 
And imprecations upon men and 

saints. 
The sounds reechoed from the 

roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing 

in their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from 

without 
The tumult of the knocking and 

the shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the 

house of prayer, 



276 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Came with his lantern, asking, 

' Who is there ? ' 
Half choked with rage, King Rob- 

ert fiercely said, 
1 Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou 

afraid?' 40 

The frightened sexton, muttering, 

with a curse, 
' This is some drunken vagabond, 

or worse ! ' 
Turned the great key and flung 

the portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single 

stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat 

or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at 

him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of 

the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from 

his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope 

Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Alle- 

maine, 50 

Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 
Bareheaded, breathless, and be- 
sprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage 

desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the 

palace gate ; 
Rushed through the courtyard, 

thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal 

and page, 
And hurried up the broad and 

sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the 

torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with 

breathless speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did 

not heed, 60 

Until at last he reached the ban- 
quet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing 

with perfume. 



There on the dais sat another 

king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his 

signet-ring, 
King Robert's self in features, 

form, and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic 

light! 
It was an Angel ; and his presence 

there 
With a divine effulgence filled the 

air, 
An exaltation, piercing the dis- 
guise, 
Though none the hidden Angel 

recognize. 70 



A moment speechless, motionless, 

amazed, 
The throneless monarch on the 

Angel gazed, 
Who met his look of anger and 

surprise 
With the divine compassion of his 

eyes; 
Then said, ' Who art thou ? and 

why com'st thou here ? ' 
To which King Robert answered 

with a sneer, 
' I am the King, and come to claim 

my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my 

throne ! ' 
And suddenly, at these audacious 

words, 
Up sprang the angry guests, and 

drew their swords ; 80 

The Angel answered, with unruf- 
fled brow, 
' Nay, not the King, but the King's 

Jester, thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells 

and scalloped cape, 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead 

an ape ; 
Thou shalt obey my servants 

when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in 

the hall ! ' 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



217 



Deaf to Zing Eobert's threats and 
cries and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and 
down the stairs ; 

A group of tittering pages ran he- 
fore, 

And as they opened wide the fold- 
ing-door, go 

His heart failed, for he heard, with 
strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the 
men-at-arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar 
and ring 

With the mock plaudits of ' Long 
live the King ! ' 

Next morning, waking with the 
day's first beam, 

He said within himself, ' It was a 
dream ! ' 

But the straw rustled as he turned 
his head, 

There were the cap and bells be- 
side his bed, 

Around him rose the bare, discol- 
ored walls, 

Close by, the steeds were champ- 
ing in their stalls, ioo 

And in the corner, a revolting 
shape, 

Shivering and chattering sat the 
wretched ape. 

It was no dream ; the world he 
loved so much 

Had turned to dust and ashes at 
his touch ! 

Days came and went ; and now re- 
turned again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 

Under the Angel's governance be- 
nign 

The happy island danced with 
corn and wine, 

And deep within the mountain's 
burning breast 

Enceladus, the giant, was at 
rest. 



Meanwhile King Robert yielded to 
his fate, m 

Sullen and silent, and disconso- 
late. 

Dressed in the motley garb that 
Jesters wear, 

With look bewildered and a vacant 
stare, 

Close shaven above the ears, as 
monks are shorn, 

By courtiers mocked, by pages 
laughed to scorn, 

His only friend the ape, his only food 

What others left, — he still was un- 
subdued. 

And when the Angel met him on 
his way, 

And half in earnest, half in jest, 
would say, 120 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he 
might feel 

The velvet scabbard held a sword 
of steel, 

' Art thou the King ? ' the passion 
of his woe 

Burst from him in resistless over- 
flow, 

And, lifting high his forehead, he 
would fling 

The haughty answer back, ' I am, 
I am the King! ' 

Almost three years were ended ; 
when there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and 
name 

From Valmond, Emperor of Alle- 
maine, 

Unto King Eobert, saying that 
Fope Urbane 130 

By letter summoned them forth- 
with to come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of 
Eome. 

The Angel with great joy received 
his guests, 

And gave them presents of em- 
broidered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich er- 
mine lined, 



278 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And rings and jewels of the rarest 
kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er 
the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

"Whose loveliness was more re- 
splendent made 

By the mere passing of that caval- 
cade, 140 

With plumes, and cloaks, and 
• housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden 
spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in 
mock state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with sham- 
bling gait, 

His cloak of fox-tails napping in 
the wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched 
behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge 
merriment 

In all the country towns through 
which they went. 



The Pope received them with great 
pomp and blare 

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint 
Peter's square, 150 

Giving his benediction and em- 
brace, 

Fervent, and full of apostolic 
grace. 

While with congratulations and 
with prayers 

He entertained the Angel una- 
wares, 

Robert, the Jester, bursting 
through the crowd, 

Into their presence rushed, and 
cried aloud, 

' I am the King ! Look, and be- 
hold in me 

Robert, your brother, King of 
Sicily ! 

This man, who wears my sem- 
blance to your eyes, 

Is an impostor in a king's dis- 
guise. 160 



Do you not know me ? does no 
voice within 

Answer my cry, and say we are 
akin ? ' 

The Pope in silence, but with 
troubled mien, 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance 
serene ; 

The Emperor, laughing, said, ' It 
is strange sport 

To keep a madman for thy Fool at 
court ! ' 

And the poor, baffled Jester in dis- 
grace 

Was hustled back among the pop- 
ulace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week 
went by, 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon 
the sky; 170 

The presence of the Angel, with 
its light, 

Before the sun rose, made the city 
bright, 

And with new fervor filled the 
hearts of men, 

Who felt that Christ indeed had 
risen again. 

Even the Jester, on his bed of 
straw, 

With haggard eyes the unwonted 
splendor saw, 

He felt within a power unfelt be- 
fore, 

And, kneeling humbly on his 
chamber floor, 

He heard the rushing garments of 
the Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, as- 
cending heavenward. 180 

And now the visit ending, and once 
more 

Valmond returning to the Dan- 
ube's shore, 

Homeward the Angel journeyed, 
and again 

The land was made resplendent 
with his train, 

Flashing along the towns of Italy 



INTERLUDE 



279 



Unto Salerno, and from thence by 

sea. 
And when once more within Pa- 
lermo's wall, 
And, seated on the throne in his 

great hall, 
He heard the Angelus from con- 
vent towers, 
As if the better world conversed 

with ours, 190 

He beckoned to King Robert to 

draw nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest 

retire ; 
And when they were alone, the 

Angel said, 
' Art thou the King ? ' Then, bow- 
ing down his head, 
King Eobert crossed both hands 

upon his breast, 
And meekly answered him : ' Thou 

knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go 

hence, 
And in some cloister's school of 

penitence, 
Across those stones, that pave the 

way to heaven, 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul 

be shriven ! ' 200 

The Angel smiled, and from his 

radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the 

place, 
And through the open window, 

loud and clear, 
They heard the monks chant in 

the chapel near, 
Above the stir and tumult of the 

street : 
1 He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low de- 
gree ! ' 
And through the chant a second 

melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single 

string : 
' I am an Angel, and thou art the 

King!' 210 



King Robert, who was standing 

near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was 

alone ! 
But all apparelled as in days of 

old, 
With ermined mantle and with 

cloth of gold ; 
And when his courtiers came, the 51 

found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed 

in silent prayer. 

INTERLUDE 

And then the blue-eyed Norseman 

told 
A Saga of the days of old. 
' There is,' said he, ' a wondrous 

book 
Of Legends in the old Norse 

tongue, 
Of the dead kings of Norroway, — 
Legends that once were told or 

sung 
In many a smoky fireside nook 
Of Iceland, in the ancient day, 
By wandering Saga-man or Scald ; 
" Heimskringla " is the volume 

called ; 
And he who looks may find therein 
The story that I now begin.' 

And in each pause the story made 
Upon his violin he played, 
As an appropriate interlude, 
Fragments of old Norwegian tunes 
That bound in one the separate 

runes, 
And held the mind in perfect 

mood, 
Entwining and encircling all 
The strange and antiquated rhymes 
With melodies of olden times ; 
As over some half-ruined wall, 
Disjointed and about to fall, 
Fresh woodbines climb and inter- 
lace, 
And keep the loosened stones in 
place. 



28o 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 
THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 

I 
THE CHALLENGE OF THOK 

I am the God Thor, 
I am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer ! 
Here in my Northland, 
My fastness and fortress, 
Eeign I forever ! 

Here amid icebergs 

Rule I the nations ; 

This is my hammer, 

Miolner the mighty ; 10 

Giants and sorcerers 

Cannot withstand it ! 

These are the gauntlets 
Wherewith I wield it, 
And hurl it afar off ; 
This is my girdle ; 
Whenever I brace it, 
Strength is redoubled ! 

The light thou beholdest 
Stream through the heavens, 20 
In flashes of crimson, 
Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night-wind, 
Affrighting the nations ! 

Jove is my brother ; 

Mine eyes are the lightning-, 

The wheels of my chariot 

Eoll in the thunder, 

The blows of my hammer 

Eing in the earthquake ! 30 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it; 
Meekness is weakness, 
Strength is triumphant, 
Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's-Day ! 

Thou art a God too, 
O Galilean ! 



And thus single-handed 
Unto the combat, 40 

Gauntlet or Gospel, 
Here I defy thee I 

II 

KING OLAF'S RETURN 

And King Olaf heard the cry, 
Saw the red light in the sky, 

Laid his hand upon his sword, 
As he leaned upon the railing, 
And his ships went sailing, sailing 

Northward into Drontheim fiord. 

There he stood as one who 

dreamed ; 
And the red light glanced and 
gleamed 50 

On the armor that he wore ; 
And he shouted, as the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and 
shifted, 
' I accept thy challenge, Thor ! ' 

To avenge his father slain, 
And reconquer realm and reign, 
Came the youthful Olaf home, 
Through the midnight sailing, sail- 
ing, 
Listening to the wild wind's wail- 
ing, 
And the dashing of the foam. 60 

To his thoughts the sacred name 
Of his mother Astrid came, 

And the tale she oft had told 
Of her flight by secret passes 
Through the mountains and mo- 
rasses, 

To the home of Hakon old. 

Then strange memories crowded 

back 
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and 
wrack, 
And a hurried flight by sea ; 69 
Of grim Vikings, and the rapture 
Of the sea-fight, and the capture, 
And the life of slavery. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



281 



How a stranger watched his face 
In the Esthonian market-place, 

Scanned his features one by one, 
Saying, 'We should know each 

other ; 
I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, 

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son ! ' 

Then as Queen Allogia's page, 
Old in honors, young in age, 80 

Chief of all her men-at-arms ; 
Till vague whispers and mysterious 
Keached King Valdemar, the im- 
perious, 

Filling him with strange alarms. 

Then his cruisings o'er the seas, 
Westward to the Hebrides 

And to Scilly's rocky shore ; 
And the hermit's cavern dismal, 
Christ's great name and rites bap- 
tismal 

In the ocean's rush and roar, go 

All these thoughts of love and 

strife 
Glimmered through his lurid life, 

As the stars' intenser light 
Through the red flames o'er him 

trailing, 
As his ships went sailing, sailing 
Northward in the summer night. 

Trained for either camp or court, 
Skilful in each manly sport, 

Young and beautiful and tall ; 
Art of warfare, craft of cbases, 100 
Swimming, skating, snow-shoe 
races, 

Excellent alike in all. 

When at sea, with all his rowers, 
He along the bending oars 

Outside of his ship could run. 
He the Smalsor Horn ascended, 
And his shining shield suspended 

On its summit, like a sun. 108 

On the ship-rails he could stand, 
Wield his sword with either hand, 
And at once two javelins throw ; 
At all feasts where ale was stron- 
gest 



Sat the merry monarch longest, 
First to come and last to go. 

Norway never yet had seen 
One so beautiful of mien, 

One so royal in attire, 
When in arms completely fur- 
nished, 
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, 

Mantle like a flame of fire. 120 

Thus came Olaf to his own, 
When upon the night-wind blown 

Passed that cry along the shore ; 
And he answered, while the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and 
shifted, 

4 1 accept thy challenge, Thor ! ' 



III 

THOKA OF KIMOL 

' Thora of Rimol < hide me ! hide 
me! 

Danger and shame and death be- 
tide me ! 

For Olaf the King is hunting me 
down 

Through field and forest, through 
thorp and town ! ' 130 

Thus cried Jarl Hakon 
To Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 

' Hakon Jarl ! for the love I bear 
thee 

Neither shall shame nor death 
come near thee ! 

But the hiding-place wherein thou 
must lie 

Is the cave underneath the swine 
in the sty.' 
Thus to Jarl Hakon 
Said Thora, the fairest of wo- 
men. 

So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall 
Karker 

Crouched in the cave, than a dun- 
geon darker, 140 



282 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



As Olaf came riding, with men in 


But wakeful and weeping 


mail, 


Sat Thora, the fairest of wo- 


Through the forest roads into 


men. 


Orkadale, 




Demanding Jarl Hakon 


At Nidarholm the priests are all 


Of Thora, the fairest of women. 


singing, 




Two ghastly heads on the gibbet 


'Rich and honored shall he who- 


are swinging ; 170 


ever 


One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his 


The head of Hakon Jarl shall dis- 


thrall's, 


sever ! ' 


And the people are shouting from 


Hakon heard him, and Karker the 


windows and walls ; 


slave, 


While alone in her chamber 


Through the hreathing-holes of 


Swoons Thora, the fairest of 


the darksome cave. 


women. 


Alone in her chamber 




Wept Thora, the fairest of wo- 


IV 


men. 150 






QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY 


Said Karker, the crafty, ' I will not 




slay thee ! 


Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat 


For all the king's gold I will never 


proud and aloft 


betray thee ! ' 


In her chamber, that looked over 


1 Then why dost thou turn so pale, 


meadow and croft. 


churl, 


Heart's dearest, 


And then again black as the 


Why dost thou sorrow so? 


•earth ? ' said the Earl. 




More pale and more faithful 


The floor with tassels of fir was 


"Was Thora, the fairest of wo- 


besprent, 


men. 


Filling the room with their fra- 




grant scent. 180 


From a dream in the night the 




thrall started, saying, 


She heard the birds sing, she saw 


'Round my neck a gold ring King 


the sxin shine, 


Olaf was laying ! ' 


The air of summer was sweeter 


And Hakon answered, ' Beware of 


than wine. 


the king ! 




He will lay round thy neck a blood- 


Like a sword without scabbard 


red ring.' 160 


the bright river lay 


At the ring on her finger 


Between her own kingdom and 


Gazed Thora, the fairest of 


Norroway. 


women. 






But Olaf the King had sued for 


At daybreak slept Hakon, with 


her hand, 


sorrows encumbered, 


The sword would be sheathed, the 


But screamed and drew up his 


river be spanned. 


feet as he slumbered ; 




The thrall in the darkness plunged 


Her maidens were seated around 


with his knife, 


her knee, 


And the Earl awakened no more 


Working bright figures in tapes- 


in this life. 


try, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



283 



And one was singing the ancient 

rune 
Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath 

of Gndrun. 190 

And through it, and round it, and 

over it all 
Sounded incessant the waterfall. 

The Queen in her hand held a ring 

of gold, 
From the door of Lade's Temple 

old. 

King Olaf had sent her this wed- 
ding gift, 

But her thoughts as arrows were 
keen and swift. 

She had given the ring to her gold- 
smiths twain, 

Who smiled, as they handed it hack 
again. 

And Sigrid the Queen, in her 
haughty way, 

Said, ' Why do you smile, my gold- 
smiths, say ? ' 200 

And they answered : ' O Queen ! if 
the truth must be told, 

The ring is of copper, and not of 
gold ! ' 

The lightning flashed o'er her fore- 
head and cheek, 

She only murmured, she did not 
speak : 

'If in his gifts he can faithless 

be, 
There will be no gold in his love 

to me.' 

A footstep was heard on the outer 

stair, 
And in strode King Olaf with royal 

air. 

He kissed the Queen's hand, and 
he whispered of love, 



And swore to be true as the stars 
are above. 210 

But she smiled with contempt as 
she answered: ' O King, 

Will you swear it, as Odin once 
swore, on the ring? ' 

And the King: 'O speak not of 

Odin to me, 
The wife of King Olaf a Christian 

must be. 

Looking straight at the King, with 

her level brows, 
She said, ' I keep true to my faith 

and my vows.' 

Then the face of King Olaf was 
darkened with gloom, 

He rose in his anger and strode 
through the room. 

' Why, then, should I care to have 

thee ? ' he said, 
* A faded old woman, a heathenish 

jade ! ' 220 

His zeal was stronger than fear or 

love 
And he struck the Queen in the 

face with his glove. 

Then forth from the chamber in 

anger he fled, 
And the wooden stairway shook 

with his tread. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said 

under her breath, 
' This insult, King Olaf, shall be 
thy death ! ' 
Heart's dearest, 
Why dost thou sorrow so? 



THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS 

Now from all King Olaf's farms 

His men-at-arms 230 

Gathered on the Eve of Easter ; 



284 TALES OF A 


WAYSIDE INN 


To his house at Angvalds-ness 


It was not the fog he saw, 


Fast they press, 


Nor misty flaw, 


Drinking with the royal feaster. 


That above the landscape brooded; 




It was Eyvind Kallda's crew 


Loudly through the wide -flung 


Of warlocks blue 


door 


With their caps of darkness 


Came the roar 


hooded ! 


Of the sea upon the Skerry ; 




And its thunder loud and near 


Round and round the house they 


Beached the ear, 239 


go, 


Mingling with their voices merry. . 


Weaving slow 




Magic circles to encumber 


4 Hark ! ' said Olaf to his Scald, 


And imprison in their ring 280 


Half red the Bald, 


Olaf the King, 


* Listen to that song, and learn it ! 


As he helpless lies in slumber. 


Half my kingdom would I give, 




As I live, 


Then athwart the vapors dun 


If hy such songs you would earn it ! 


The Easter sun 




Streamed with one broad track of 


' For of all the runes and rhymes 


splendor ! 


Of all times, 


In their real forms appeared 


Best I like the ocean's dirges, 


The warlocks weird, 


When the old harper heaves and 


Awful as the Witch of Endor. 


rocks, 250 




His hoary locks 


Blinded by the light that glared, 


Flowing and flashing in the sur- 


They groped and stared, 290 


ges!' 


Round about with steps unsteady ; 




From his window Olaf gazed, 


Halfred answered : * I am called 


And, amazed, 


The Unappalled ! 


' Who are these strange people ? ' 


Nothing hinders me or daunts me. 


said he. 


Hearken to me, then, King, 




While I sing 


' Eyvind Kallda and his men ! ' 


The great Ocean Song that haunts 


Answered then 


me.' 


From the yard a sturdy farmer; 




While the men-at-arms apace 


* I will hear your song sublime 


Filled the place, 


Some other time,' 260 


Busily buckling on their armor. 300 


Says the drowsy monarch, yawn- 




ing, 


From the gates they sallied forth, 


And retires ; each laughing guest 


South and north, 


Applauds the jest ; 


Scoured the island coast around 


Then they sleep till day is dawning. 


them, 




Seizing all the warlock band, 


Pacing up and down the yard, 


Foot and hand 


King Olaf's guard 


On the Skerry's rocks they bound 


Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping 


them. 


O'er the sands, and up the hill, 




Gathering still 


And at eve the king again 


Round the house where they were 


Called his train, 


sleeping. 270 


And, with all the candles burning, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



285 



Silent sat and heard once more 310 

The sullen roar 
Of the ocean tides returning. 

Shrieks and cries of wild despair 

Filled the air, 
Growing fainter as they listened ; 
Then the bursting surge alone 

Sounded on ; — 
Thus the sorcerers were chris- 
tened ! 

' Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, 
Your ocean-rhyme,' 320 

Cried King Olaf: 'it will cheer 
me!' 

Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, 
' The Skerry of Shrieks 

Sings too loud for you to hear me ! ' 

VI 

THE WBAITH OF ODIN 

The guests were loud, the ale was 

strong, 
King Olaf feasted late and long ; 
The hoary Scalds together sang ; 
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

The door swung wide, with creak 

and din; 330 

A blast of cold night-air came in, 
And on the threshold shivering 

stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and 

hood. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

The King exclaimed, ' graybeard 

pale ! 
Come warm thee with this cup of 

ale.' 
The foaming draught the old man 

quaffed, 
The noisy guests looked on and 

laughed. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 



Then spake the King : ' Be not 
afraid : 340 

Sit here by me.' The guest 
obeyed, 

And, seated at the table, told 

Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 
gelsang. 

And ever, when the tale was o'er, 
The King demanded yet one more ; 
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling 

said, 
4 'T is late, O King, and time for 

bed.' 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

The King retired; the stranger 

guest 350 

Followed and entered with the 

rest ; 
The lights were out, the pages 

gone, 
But still the garrulous guest spake 

on. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

As one who from a volume reads, 
He spake of heroes and their 

deeds, 
Of lands and cities he had seen, 
And stormy gulfs that tossed be- 
tween, 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 
gelsang. 

Then from his lips in music rolled 
The Havamal of Odin old, 361 

With sounds mysterious as the 

roar 
Of billows on a distant shore- 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

' Do we not learn from runes and 

rhymes 
Made by the gods in elder times, 
And do not still the great Scalds 

teach 



286 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



That silence better is than 
speech?' 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 
gelsang. 

Smiling at this, the King re- 
plied, 370 

' Thy lore is by thy tongue belied ; 

For never was I so enthralled 

Either by Saga-man or Scald.' 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 
gelsang. 

The Bishop said, ' Late hours we 

keep! 
Night wanes, O King! 'tis time 

for sleep ! ' 
Then slept the King, and when he 

woke 
The guest was gone, the morning 

broke. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

They found the doors securely 

barred, 380 

They found the watch-dog in the 

yard, 
There was no footprint in the grass, 
And none had seen the stranger 

pass. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

King Olaf crossed himself and 

said : 
'I know that Odin the Great is 

dead; 
Sure is the triumph of our Faith, 
The one-eyed stranger was his 

wraith.' 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fo- 

gelsang. 

VII 

IRON-BEARD 

Olaf the King, one summer 
morn, 390 

Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 



Sending his signal through the 
land of Drontheim. 

And to the Hus-Ting held at 

Mere 
Gathered the farmers far and 

near, 
With their war weapons ready to 

confront him. 

Ploughing under the morning 

star, 
Old Iron-Beard in Yriar 
Heard the summons, chuckling 
with a low laugh. 

He wiped the sweat-drops from 

his brow, 
Unharnessed his horses from the 

plough, 400 

And clattering came on horseback 

to King Olaf. 

He was the churliest of the 

churls ; 
Little he cared for king or earls ; 
Bitter as home-brewed ale were 

his foaming passions. 

Hodden-gray was the garb he 

wore, 
And by the Hammer of Thor he 

swore ; 
He hated the narrow town, and all 

its fashions. 

But he loved the freedom of his 

farm, 
His ale at night, by the fireside 

warm, 
Gudrun his daughter, with her 

flaxen tresses. 410 

He loved his horses and his 

herds, 
The smell of the earth, and the 

song of birds, 
His well-filled barns, his brook 

with its watercresses. 

Huge and cumbersome was his 
frame ; 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



287 



His beard, from which he took 
his name, 
Frosty and fierce, like that of Hy- 
mer the Giant. 

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, 
The farmer of Yriar, Iron-beard, 
On horseback, in an attitude de- 
fiant. 

And to King Olaf he cried 
aloud, 420 

Out of the middle of the crowd, 
That tossed about him like a 
stormy ocean : 

' Such sacrifices shalt thou bring 
To Odin and to Thor, O King, 
As other kings have done in their 
devotion ! ' 

King Olaf answered : ' I com- 
mand 

This land to be a Christian land ; 
Here is my Bishop who the folk 
baptizes ! 

' But if you ask me to restore 
Your sacrifices, stained with 
gore, 430 

Then will I offer human sacrifices ! 

4 Not slaves and peasants shall 
they be, 

But men of note and high de- 
gree, 
Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar 
of Gryting ! ' 

Then to their Temple strode he 
in, 

And loud behind him heard the 
din 
Of his men-at-arms and the pea- 
sants fiercely fighting. 

There in the Temple, carved in 

wood, 
The image of great Odin stood, 
A.nd other gods, with Thor supreme 

among them. 440 



King Olaf smote them with the 

blade 
Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, 
And downward shattered to the 

pavement flung them. 

At the same moment rose with- 
out, 

From the contending crowd, a 
shout, 
A mingled sound of triumph and 
of wailing. 

And there upon the trampled 

plain 
The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, 
Midway between the assailed and 
the assailing. 

King Olaf from the doorway 
spoke : 450 

' Choose ye between two things, 
my folk. 
To be baptized or given up to 
slaughter ! ' 

And seeing their leader stark 

and dead, 
The people with a murmur said, 
' O King, baptize us with thy holy 
water.' 

So all the Drontheim land be- 
came 

A Christian land in name and 
fame, 
In the old gods no more believing 
and trusting. 

And as a blood-atonement, soon 
King Olaf wed the fair Gud- 
run ; 460 

And thus in peace ended the Dron- 
theim Hus-Ting ! 



VIII 

GTTDRTJN 

On King Olaf's bridal night 
Shines the moon with tender light 



288 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And across the chamber streams 
Its tide of dreams. 

At the fatal midnight hour, 
When all evil things have power, 
In the glimmer of the moon 

Stands Gudrun. 469 

Close against her heaving breast 
Something in her hand is pressed ; 
Like an icicle, its sheen 
Is cold and keen. 

On the cairn are fixed her eyes 
Where her murdered father lies, 
And a voice remote and drear 
She seems to hear. 

What a bridal night is this ! 
Cold will be the dagger's kiss ; 
Laden with the chill of death 480 
Is its breath. 

Like the drifting snow she sweeps 
To the couch where Olaf sleeps ; 
Suddenly he wakes and stirs, 
His eyes meet hers. 

* What is that,' King Olaf said, 
'Gleams so bright above my 

head? 
Wherefore standest thou so white 
In pale moonlight ? ' 

• 'T is the bodkin that I wear 490 
When at night I bind my hair ; 

It woke me falling on the floor ; 
'T is nothing more.' 

' Forests have ears, and fields have 

eyes; 
Often treachery lurking lies 
Underneath the fairest hair ! 
Gudrun beware ! ' 

Ere the earliest peep of morn 
Blew King Olaf 's bugle-horn ; 
And forever sundered ride 500 
Bridegroom and bride 1 



IX 

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST 

Short of stature, large of limb, 
Burly face and russet beard, 
All the women stared at him, 
When in Iceland he appeared. 
' Look ! ' they said, 
With nodding head, 
'There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest.' 

All the prayers he knew by rote, 
He could preach like Chrysos- 
tome, 510 

From the fathers he could quote, 
He had even been at Eome. 
A learned clerk, 
A man of mark, 
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 

He was quarrelsome and loud, 

And impatient of control, 
Boisterous in the market crowd, 
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, 
Everywhere 520 

Would drink and swear, 
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 

In his house this malcontent 

Could the King no longer bear, 
So to Iceland he was sent 
To convert the heathen there, 
And away 
One summer day 
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 529 

There in Iceland, o'er their books 
Pored the people day and night, 
But he did not like their looks, 
Nor the songs they used to 
write. 
' All this rhyme 
Is waste of time! ' 
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



289 



To the alehouse, where he sat, 

Came the Scalds and Saga-men ; 
Is it to he wondered at 
That they quarrelled now and 
then, 540 

When o'er his beer 
Began to leer 
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest? 

All the folk in Altafiord 

Boasted of their island grand ; 
Saying in a single word, 
' Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
Doth shine upon ! ' 
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 550 

And he answered: 'What's the 
use 
Of this bragging up and down, 
When three women and one goose 
Make a market in your town ! ' 
Every Scald 
Satires drawled 
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

Something worse they did than 
that ; 
And what vexed him most of 
all 
Was a figure in shovel hat, 560 
Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; 
With words that go 
Sprawling below, 
'This is Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest.' 

Hardly knowing what he did, 
Then he smote them might and 
main, 
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid 
Lay there in the alehouse slain. 
4 To-day we are gold, 
To-morrow mould ! ' 570 
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's 
Priest. 

Much in fear of axe and rope, 
Back to Norway sailed he then. 



'O King Olaf ! little hope 
Is there of these Iceland men ! ' 
Meekly said, 
With bending head, 

Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest 



EAUD THE STRONG 

' All the old gods are dead, 

All the wild warlocks fled ; 580 

But the White Christ lives and 

reigns, 
And throughout my wide domains 
His Gospel shall be spread ! * 
On the Evangelists 
Thus swore King Olaf. 

But still in dreams of the night 
Beheld he the crimson light, 
And heard the voice that defied 
Him who was crucified, 
And challenged him to the fight. 
To Sigurd the Bishop 591 

King Olaf confessed it. 

And Sigurd the Bishop said, 
4 The old gods are not dead, 
For the great Thor still reigns, 
And among the Jarls and Thanes 
Tbe old witchcraft still is spread.' 
Thus to King Olaf 
Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

' Far north in the Salten Fiord, 600 

By rapine, fire, and sword, 

Lives the Viking, Baud the 

Strong ; 
All the Godoe Isles belong 
To him and his heathen horde.' 

Thus went on speaking 

Sigurd the Bishop. 

' A warlock, a wizard is he, 

And the lord of the wind and the 

sea; 
And whichever way he sails, 
He has ever favoring gales, 610 
By his craft in sorcery.' 



290 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Here the sign of the cross 
Made devoutly King Olaf. 

'With rites that we both abhor, 
He worships Odin and Thor ; 
So it cannot yet be said, 
That all the old gods are dead, 
And the warlocks are no more,' • 

Flushing with anger 

Said Sigurd the Bishop. 620 

Then King Olaf cried aloud : 

* I will talk with this mighty 

Eaud, 
And along the Salten Fiord 
Preach the Gospel with my sword, 
Or he brought back in my 
shroud ! ' 
So northward from Drontheim 
Sailed King Olaf! 



XI 

BISHOP SIGURD OP SALTEN 
PIORD 

Loud the angry wind was wailing 
As King Olaf's ships came sail- 
ing 
Northward out of Drontheim 
haven 630 

To the mouth of Salten Fiord. 

Though the flying sea - spray 

drenches 
Fore and aft the rowers' benches, 
Not a single heart is craven 

Of the champions there on 

board. 

All without the Fiord was quiet, 
But within it storm and riot, 
Such as on his Viking cruises 
Eaud the Strong was wont to 
ride. 

And the sea through all its tide- 
ways 640 

Swept the reeling vessels side- 
ways, 



As the leaves are swept through 
sluices, 
When the flood - gates open 
wide 

''Tis the warlock! 'tis the de- 
mon 

Eaud ! ' cried Sigurd to the sea- 
men; 

' But the Lord is not affrighted 
By the witchcraft of his foes.' 

To the ship's bow he ascended, 
By his choristers attended, 
Eound him were the tapers 
lighted, 650 

And the sacred incense rose. 

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, 
In his robes, as one transfigured, 
And the Crucifix he planted 
High amid the rain and mist. 

Then with holy water sprinkled 
All the ship; the mass-bells tin- 
kled: 
Loud the monks around him 
chanted, 
Loud he read the Evangelist. 

As into the Fiord they darted, 660 
On each side the water parted ; 
Down a path like silver molten 
Steadily rowed King Olaf's 
ships ; 

Steadily burned all night the 
tapers. 

And the White Christ through the 
vapors 

Gleamed across the Fiord of 
Salten, 
As through John's Apoca- 
lypse,— 

Till at last they reached Baud's 

dwelling 
On the little isle of Gelling : 669 
Not a guard was at the doorway, 
Not a glimmer of light waa 

seen.. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



291 



But at anchor, carved and gilded, 
Lay the dragon-ship he builded ; 
'X was the grandest ship in Nor- 
way, 
With its crest and scales of 
green. 

Cp the stairway, softly creeping, 
To the loft where Raud was sleep- 
ing. 
With their fists they burst asunder 
Bolt and bar that held the 
door. 

Drunken with sleep and ale they 
found him, 680 

Dragged him from his bed and 
bound him, 

While he stared with stupid won- 
der 
At the look and garb they 
wore. 

Then King Olaf said : ' Sea-King ! 

Little time have we for speak- 
ing, 

Choose between the good and evil ; 
Be baptized! or thou shalt 
die!' 

But in scorn the heathen scoffer 
Answered : ' I disdain thine offer ; 
Neither fear I God nor Devil ; 690 
Thee and thy Gospel I defy ! ' 

Then between his jaws distended, 
When his frantic struggles ended, 
Through King Olaf's horn an ad- 
der, 
Touched by fire, they forced to 
glide. 

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, 
As he gnawed through bone and 

marrow ; 
But without a groan or shudder, 
Raud the Strong blaspheming 

died. 699 

Then baptized they all that region, 
Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, 



Far as swims the salmon, leaping, 
Up the streams of Salten Fiord. 

In their temples Thor and Odin 
Lay in dust and ashes trodden, 
As King Olaf, onward sweeping, 
Preached the Gospel with his 
sword. 

Then he took the carved and 

gilded 
Dragon -ship that Raud had 

builded, 
And the tiller single-handed 710 
Grasping, steered into the 

main. 

Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er 

him, 
Southward sailed the ship that 

bore him, 
Till at Drontheim haven landed 
Olaf and his crew again. 

XII 

KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS 

At Drontheim, Olaf the King 
Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, 

As he sat in his banquet-hall, 
Drinking the nut-brown ale, 719 
With his bearded Berserks hale 

And tall. 

Three days his Yule-tide feasts 
He held with Bishops and Priests, 

And his horn filled up to the 
brim : 
But the ale was never too strong, 
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, 

For him. 

O'er his drinking-horn, the sign 
He made of the cross divine, 

As he drank, and muttered his 
prayers ; 730 

But the Berserks evermore 
Made the sign of the Hammer of 
Thor 
Over theirs. 



292 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The gleams of the fire-light dance 
Upon helmet and hauberk and 
lance, 
And laugh in the eyes of the 
King; 
And he cries to Halfred the Scald, 
Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, 
' Sing ! ' 

1 Sing me a song divine, 740 

"With a sword in every line, 

And this shall be thy reward.' 
And he loosened the belt at his 

waist, 
And in front of the singer placed 

His sword. 

' Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, 
Wherewith at a stroke he hewed 
The millstone through and 
through, 
And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the 
Strong, 749 

Were neither so broad nor so long, 
Nor so true.' 

Then the Scald took his harp and 

sang, 
And loud through the music rang 
The sound of that shining 

word; 
And the harp-strings a clangor 

made, 
As if they were struck with the 

blade 
Of a sword. 

And the Berserks round about 
Broke forth into a shout 759 

That made the rafters ring : 
They smote with their fists on the 

board, 
And shouted, ' Long live the Sword, 

And the King ! ' 

But the King said, 4 O my son, 
I miss the bright word in one 

Of thy measures and thy 
rhymes.' 
And Halfred the Scald replied, 
1 In another 't was multiplied 

Three times.' 



Then King Olaf raised the hilt 770 
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, 

And said, ' Do not refuse ; 
Count well the gain and the loss, 
Thor's hammer or Christ's cross : 

Choose ! ' 

And Halfred the Scald said, * This 
In the name of the Lord I kiss, 

Who on it was crucified ! ' 
And a shout went round the board, 
' In the name of Christ the Lord, 

Who died ! ' 781 

Then over the waste of snows 
The noonday sun uprose, 

Through the driving mists re- 
vealed, 
Like the lifting of the Host, 
By incense-clouds almost 

Concealed. 

On the shining wall a vast 
And shadowy cross was cast 

From the hilt of the lifted 
sword, 790 

And in foaming cups of ale 
The Berserks drank ' Was-hael ! 

To the Lord ! ' 



XIII 

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG 
SERPENT 

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 

In his ship-yard by the sea, 
Whistling, said, ' It would bewilder 
Any man but Thorberg Skafting, 
Any man but me ! ' 

Near him lay the Dragon stranded, 
Built of old by Eaud the 
Strong, 800 

And King Olaf had commanded 
He should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 

Therefore whistled Thorberg 
Skafting, 
As he sat with half-closed 
eyes, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



2 93 



And his head turned sideways, 

drafting 
That new vessel for King Olaf 
Twice the Dragon's size. 

Eound him husily hewed and ham- 
mered 809 
Mallet huge and heavy axe ; 
Workmen laughed and sang and 

clamored ; 
Whirred the wheels, that into rig- 
ging 
Spun the shining flax ! 

All this tumult heard the master,— 

It was music to his ear ; 
Fancy whispered all the faster, 
'Men shall hear of Thorberg 
Skafting 
For a hundred year ! ' 818 

Workmen sweating at the forges 
Fashioned iron bolt and bar, 
Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black 
caldron 
With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 

Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 
Could you not be gone a minute 
But some mischief must be doing, 
Turning bad to worse ? 

'T was an ill wind that came waft- 
ing 
From his homestead words of 
woe ; 830 

To his farm went Thorberg Skaft- 
ing, 
Oft repeating to his workmen, 
Build ye thus and so. 

After long delays returning 

Came the master back by 
night ; 
To his ship-yard longing, yearn- 
ing, 
Hurried he, and did not leave 
it 
Till the morning's light. 



' Come and see my ship, my dar- 
ling ! ' 
On the morrow said the 
King ; 840 

' Finished now from keel to car- 
ling; 
Never yet was seen in Norway 
Such a wondrous thing ! ' 

In the ship-yard, idly talking, 
At the ship the workmen 
stared : 
Some one, all their labor balking, 
Down her sides had cut deep 
gashes, 
Not a plank was spared ! 

' Death be to the evil-doer ! ' 

With an oath King Olaf 
spoke ; 850 

' But rewards to his pursuer ! ' 
And with wrath his face grew red- 
der 
Than his scarlet cloak. 

Straight the master-builder, smil- 
ing, 
Answered thus • the angry 
King : 
' Cease blaspheming and reviling, 
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 
Who has done this thing ! ' 

Then he chipped and smoothed 

the planking, 

Till the King, delighted, 

swore, 860 

With much lauding and much 

thanking, 
' Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she was before ! ' 

Seventy ells and four extended 

On the grass the vessel's keel; 
High above it, gilt and splendid, 
Rose the figure-head ferocious 
With its crest of steel. 

Then they launched her from the 
tressels, 
In the ship-yard by the sea ; S70 



294 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



She was the grandest of all vessels, 
Never ship was built in Norway 
Half so fine as she ! 

The Long Serpent was she chris- 
tened, 
'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 
They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg 
Skafting 
For a hundred year ! 

XIV 

THE CREW OP THE LONG SER- 
PENT 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay 
King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, 880 
And, striped with white and blue, 
Downward fluttered sail and ban- 
ner, 
As alights the screaming lanner ; 
Lustily cheered, in their wild man- 
ner, 
The Long Serpent's crew. 

Her forecastle man was Ulf the 
Bed; 

Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, 
His teeth as large and white ; 

His beard, of gray and russet 
blended, 

Round as a swallow's nest de- 
scended ; 890 

As standard-bearer he defended 
Olaf's flag in the fight 

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, 
Like the King in garb and face, 

So gallant and so hale ; 
Every cabin-boy and varlet 
Woadered at his cloak of scarlet ; 
Like a river, frozen and star-lit, 

Gleamed his coat of mail. 

By the bulkhead, tall and dark, 900 
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, 

A figure gaunt and grand ; 
On his hairy arm imprinted 
Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; 



Like Thor's hammer, huge and 
dinted 
Was his brawny hand. 

Einar Tamberskelver, bare 
To the winds his golden hair, 

By the mainmast stood ; 
Graceful was his form, and slen- 
der, 910 
And his eyes were deep and ten- 
der 
As a woman's, in the splendor 
Of her maidenhood. 

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork 
Watched the sailors at their work: 

Heavens ! how they swore ! 
Thirty men they each commanded, 
Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, 
Shoulders broad, and chests ex- 
panded, 

Tugging at the oar. 920 

These, and many more like these, 
With King Olaf sailed the seas, 

Till the waters vast 
Filled them with a vague devo- 
tion, 
With the freedom and the motion, 
With the roll and roar of ocean 

And the sounding blast. 

When they landed from the fleet, 
How they roared through Dron- 
theim's street, 
Boisterous as the gale ! 930 

How they laughed and stamped 

and pounded, 
Till the tavern roof resounded 
And the host looked on astounded 
As they drank the ale ! 

Never saw the wild North Sea 
Such a gallant company 

Sail its billows blue ! 
Never, while they cruised and 

quarrelled, 
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth 

Harald, 
Owned a ship so well apparelled, 
Boasted such a crew ! 941 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



295 



XV 

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR 

A little bird in the air 

Is singing of Thyri the fair, 

The sister of Svend the Dane ; 

And the song of the garrulous bird 

In the streets of the town is heard, 

And repeated again and again. 

Hoist up your sails of silk, 

And flee away from each 

other. 

To King Burislaf, it is said, 950 
"Was the beautiful Thyri wed, 

And a sorrowful hride went she ; 
And after a week and a day 
&he has fled away and away 
From his town by the stormy sea. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

They say, that through heat and 

through cold, 
Through weald, they say, and 
through wold, 
By day and by night, they say, 
She has fled; and the gossips re- 
port 961 
She has come to King Olaf's court, 
And the town is all in dismay. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, 
Has talked with the beautiful 
Queen ; 
And they wonder how it will 
end; 
For surely, if here she remain, 
It is war with King Svend the 
Dane, 970 

And King Burislaf the Vend ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
• And flee away from each other. 

Oh, greatest wonder of all ! 
It is published in hamlet and hall, 
It roars like a flame that is 
fanned ! 



The King— yes, Olaf the King — 
Has wedded her with his ring, 
And Thyri is Queen in the land ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 980 
And flee away from each other. 



XVI 

QUEEN THYRI AND THE AN- 
GELICA STALKS 

Northward over Drontheim, 
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, 
Sang the lark and linnet 
From the meadows green ; 

Weeping in her chamber, 
Lonely and unhappy, 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Sat King Olaf's Queen. 

In at all the windows 990 

Streamed the pleasant sunshine, 
On the roof above her 
Softly cooed the dove ; 

But the sound she heard not, 
Nor the sunshine heeded, 
For the thoughts of Thyri 
Were not thoughts of love. 

Then King Olaf entered, 
Beautiful as morning, 
Like the sun at Easter 1000 

Shone his happy face ; 

In his hand he carried 
Angelicas uprooted, 
With delicious fragrance 
Filling all the place. 

Like a rainy midnight 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Even the smile of Olaf 
Could not cheer her gloom ; 

Nor the stalks he gave her 1010 
With a gracious gesture, 
And with words as pleasant 
As their own perfume. 



296 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



In her hands he placed them, 


All his ships he gathered, 


And her jewelled fingers 


Summoned all his forces, 


Through the green leaves glis- 


Making his war levy 


tened 


In the region round. 


Like the dews of morn ; 






Down the coast of Norway, 


But she cast them from her, 


Like a flock of sea-gulls, 


Haughty and indignant, 


Sailed the fleet of Olaf 1060 


On the floor she threw them 1020 


Through the Danish Sound. 


With a look of scorn. 






With his own hand fearless 


' Kicher presents,' said she, 


Steered he the Long Serpent, 


' Gave King Harald Gormson 


Strained the creaking cordage, 


To the Queen, my mother, 


Bent each boom and gaff ; 


Than such worthless weeds ; 






Till in Vendland landing, 


' When he ravaged Norway, 


The domains of Thyri 


Laying waste the kingdom, 


He redeemed and rescued 


Seizing scatt and treasure 


From King Burislaf. 


For her royal needs. 






Then said Olaf, laughing, 1070 


' But thou darest not venture 1030 


' Not ten yoke of oxen 


Through the Sound to Vendland, 


Have the power to draw us 


My domains to rescue 


Like a woman's hair ! 


From King Burislaf ; 






' Now will I confess it, 


' Lest King Svend of Denmark, 


Better things are jewels 


Forked Beard, my brother, 


Than angelica stalks are 


Scatter all thy vessels 


For a queen to wear.' 


As the wind the chaff.' 




Then up sprang King Olaf, 


XVII 


Like a reindeer bounding, 




With an oath he answered 1040 


KING SVEND OF THE FORKED 


Thus the luckless Queen : 


BEARD 


' Never yet did Olaf 


Loudly the sailors cheered 


Fear King Svend of Denmark ; 


Svend of the Forked Beard, 


This right hand shall hale him 


As with his fleet he steered 1080 


By his forked chin ! ' 


Southward to Vendland ; 




Where with their courses hauled 


Then he left the chamber, 


All were together called, 


Thundering through the door- 


Under the Isle of Svald 


way, 


Near to the mainland. 


Loud his steps resounded 




Down the outer stair. 


After Queen Gunhild's death, 




So the old Saga saith, 


Smarting with the insult, 1050 


Plighted King Svend his faith 


Through the streets of Drontheim 


To Sigrid the Haughty ; 


Strode he red and wrathful, 


And to avenge his bride, 1090 


With his stately air. 


Soothing her wounded pride, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



297 



Over the waters wide 


Plotted the three kings ;■ 


King Olaf sought he. 


While, with a base intent, 




Southward Earl Sigvald went, 


Still on her scornful face, 


On a foul errand bent, 1 140 


Blushing with deep disgrace, 


Unto the Sea-kings. 


Bore she the crimson trace 




Of Olaf 's gauntlet ; 


Thence to hold on his course 


Like a malignant star, 


Unto King Olaf's force, 


Blazing in heaven afar, 


Lying within the hoarse 


Red shone the angry scar noo 


Mouths of Stet-haven ; 


Under her frontlet. 


Him to ensnare and bring 




Unto the Danish king, 


Oft to King Svend she spake, 


Who his dead corse would fling 


' For thine own honor's sake 


Forth to the raven ! 


Shalt thou swift vengeance take 




On the vile coward! ' 


XVIII 


Until the King at last, 


Gusty and overcast, 


KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD 


Like a tempestuous blast 




Threatened and lowered. 


On the gray sea-sands 1150 




King Olaf stands, 


Soon as the Spring appeared, mo 


Northward and seaward 


Svend of the Forked Beard 


He points with his hands. 


High his red standard reared, 




Eager for battle ; 


With eddy and whirl 


While every warlike Dane, 


The sea-tides curl, 


Seizing his arms again, 


Washing the sandals 


Left all unsown the grain, 


Of Sigvald the Earl. 


Unhoused the cattle. 






The mariners shout, 


Likewise the Swedish King 


The ships swing about, 


Summoned in haste a Thing, 


The yards are all hoisted, 1160 


Weapons and men to bring 1 120 


The sails flutter out. 


In aid of Denmark ; 




Eric the Norseman, too, 


The war-horns are played, 


As the war-tidings flew, 


The anchors are weighed. 


Sailed with a chosen crew 


Like moths in the distance 


From Lapland and Finmark. 


The sails flit and fade. 


So upon Easter day 


The sea is like lead, 


Sailed the three kings away, 


The harbor lies dead, 


Out of the sheltered bay, 


As a corse on the sea-shore, 


In the bright season ; 


Whose spirit has fled! 


With them Earl Sigvald came, 1130 




Eager for spoil and fame ; 


On that fatal day, 1170 


Pity that such a name 


The histories say, 


Stooped to such treason ! 


Seventy vessels 




Sailed out of the bay. 


Safe under Svald at last, 




Now were their anchors cast, 


But soon scattered wide 


Safe from the sea and blast, 


O'er the billows they ride, 



298 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



While Sigvald and Olaf 


Drifting down on the Danish fleet 


Sail side by side. 


Three together the ships were 




lashed, 


Cried the Earl : ' Follow me ! 


So that neither should turn and 


I your pilot will be, 1 179 


retreat; 12 10 


For I know all the channels 


In the midst, but in front of the 


Where flows the deep sea ! ' 


rest, 




The burnished crest 


So into the strait 


Of the Serpent flashed. 


Where his foes lie in wait, 




Gallant King Olaf 


King Olaf stood on the quarter- 


Sails to his fate ! 


deck, 




With bow of ash and arrows of 


Then the sea-fog veils 


oak, 


The ships and their sails ; 


His gilded shield was without a 


Queen Sigrid the Haughty, 


fleck, 


Thy vengeance prevails ! 


His helmet inlaid with gold, 




And in many a fold 




Hung his crimson cloak. 


XIX 






On the forecastle Ulf the Eed 1220 


KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS 


Watched the lashing of the ships; 




' If the Serpent lie so far ahead, 


'Strike the sails!' King Olaf 


We shall have hard work of it 


said; 1 190 


here,' 


'Never shall men of mine take 


Said he with a sneer 


flight ; 


On his bearded lips. 


Never away from battle I fled, 




Never away from my foes ! 


King Olaf laid an arrow on string, 


Let God dispose 


' Have I a coward on board ? ' said 


Of my life in the fight ! ' 


he. 




' Shoot it another way, King ! ' 


' Sound the horns ! ' said Olaf the 


Sullenly answered Ulf, 


King ; 


The old sea-wolf ; 1230 


And suddenly through the drifting 


' You have need of me ! ' 


brume 




The blare of the horns began to 


In front came Svend, the King of 


ring, 


the Danes, 


Like the terrible trumpet shock 


Sweeping down with his fifty row- 


Of Kegnarock, 1200 


ers; 


On the Day of Doom ! 


To the right, the Swedish king 




with his thanes ; 


Louder and louder the war-horns 


And on board of the Iron Beard 


sang 


Earl Eric steered 


Over the level floor of the flood ; 


To the left with his oars. 


All the sails came down with a 




clang, 


'These soft Danes and Swedes,' 


And there in the midst overhead 


said the King, 


The sun hung red 


' At home with their wives had 


As a drop of blood. 


better stay, 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



299 



Than come within reach of my 


Said Earl Eric, 'Shoct that bow- 


Serpent's sting : 1240 


man 


But where Eric the Norseman 


Standing by the mast.' 


leads 


Sooner than the word was spoken 


Heroic deeds 


Flew the yeoman's shaft ; 


Will he done to-day ! ' 


Einar's bow in twain was broken, 




Einar only laughed. 


Then as together the vessels 




crashed, 


' What was that ? ' said Olaf, stand- 


Eric severed the cahles of hide, 


ing 1280 


With which King Olaf's ships 


On the quarter-deck. 


were lashed, 


'Something heard I like the 


And left them to drive and drift 


stranding 


With the currents swift 


Of a shattered wreck.' 


Of the outward tide. 


Einar then, the arrow taking 




From the loosened string, 


Louder the war-horns growl and 


Answered, 'That was Norway 


snarl, 1250 


breaking 


Sharper the dragons hite and 


From thy hand, King ! ' 


sting ! 




Eric the son of Hakon Jarl 


' Thou art but a poor diviner,' 


A death-drink salt as the sea 


Straightway Olaf said ; 


Pledges to thee, 


'Take my bow, and swifter, Ei- 


Olaf the King ! 


nar, 1290 




Let thy shafts be sped.' 




Of his bows the fairest choosing, 


XX 


Reached he from above ; 




Einar saw the blood-drops oozing 


EINAR, TAMBEBSKELVEE 


Through his iron glove. 


It was Einar Tamberskelver 


But the bow was thin and nar- 


Stood beside the mast ; 


row; 


From his yew-bow, tipped with 


At the first assay, 


silver, 


O'er its head he drew the arrow, 


Flew the arrows fast ; 


Flung the bow away ; 


Aimed at Eric unavailing, 1260 


Said, with hot and angry tem- 


As he sat concealed, 


per 1300 


Half behind the quarter-railing, 


Flushing in his cheek, 


Half behind his shield. 


' Olaf ! for so great a Kamper 




Are thy bows too weak ! ' 


First an arrow struck the tiller, 




Just above his head ; 


Then, with smile of joy defiant 


' Sing, Eyvind Skaldaspiller,' 


On his beardless lip, 


Then Earl Eric said. 


Scaled he, light and self-reliant, 


'Sing the song of Hakon dying, 


Eric's dragon-ship. 


Sing his funeral wail ! ' 


Loose his golden locks were flow- 


And another arrow flying 1270 


ing, 


Grazed his coat of mail. 


Bright his armor gleamed ; 




Like Saint Michael overthrow- 


Turning to a Lapland yeoman, 


ing 13 10 


As the arrow passed, 


Lucifer he seemed. 



300 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



XXI 

KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK 

All day has the battle raged, 
All day have the ships engaged, 
But not yet is assuaged 
The vengeance of Eric the Earl. 

The decks with blood are red, 
The arrows of death are sped, 
The ships are filled with the dead, 
And the spears the champions 
hurl. 

They drift as wrecks on the tide, 
The grappling-irons are plied, 132 1 
The boarders climb up the side, 
The shouts are feeble and few. 

Ah ! never shall Norway again 
See her sailors come back o'er the 

main; 
They all lie wounded or slain, 
Or asleep in the billows blue ! 

On the deck stands Olaf the King, 
Around him whistle and sing 
The spears that the foemen 

fling, 1330 

And the stones they hurl with 

their hands. 

In the midst of the stones and the 

spears, 
Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, 
His shield in the air he uprears, 
By the side of King Olaf he 

stands. 

Over the slippery wreck 
Of the Long Serpent's deck 
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, 
His lips with anger are pale ; 

He hews with his axe at the 

mast, 1340 

Till it falls, with the sails overcast, 

Like a snow-covered pine in the 

vast 

Dim forests of Orkadale. 



Seeking King Olaf then, 
He rushes aft with his men, 
As a hunter into the den 
Of the bear, when he stands at 
bay. 

' Kemember Jarl Hakon ! ' he cries; 
When lo ! on his wondering eyes, 
Two kingly figures arise, 1350 

Two Olafs in warlike array ! 

Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear 
Of King Olaf a word of cheer, 
In a whisper that none may hear, 
With a smile on his tremulous 
lip; 

Two shields raised high in the air, 
Two flashes of golden hair, 
Two scarlet meteors' glare, 
And both have leaped from the 
ship. 

Earl Eric's men in the boats 1360 
Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, 
And cry, from their hairy throats, 
' See ! it is Olaf the King ! ' 

While far on the opposite side 
Floats another shield on the tide, 
Like a jewel set in the wide 
Sea-current's eddying ring. 

There is told a wonderful tale, 
How the King stripped off his 

mail, 
Like leaves of the brown sea- 
kale, 1370 
As he swam beneath the main ; 

But the young grew old and gray, 
And never, by night or by day, 
In his kingdom of Norroway 
Was King Olaf seen again ! 

XXII 

THE NUN OF NIDAROS 

In the convent of Drontheim, 
Alone in her chamber, 



INTERLUDE 



301 



Knelt Astrid the Abbess 


That God at their fountains 


At midnight, adoring, 


Far off has been raining ! 


Beseeching, entreating 1380 




The Virgin and Mother. 


4 Stronger than steel 




Is the sword of the Spirit; 


She heard in the silence 


Swifter than arrows 


The voice of one speaking, 


The light of the truth is, 


Without in the darkness, 


Greater than anger 


In gusts of the night-wind, 


Is love, and subdueth ! 


Now louder, now nearer, 




Now lost in the distance. 


4 Thou art a phantom, 1430 




A shape of the sea-mist, 


The voice of a stranger 


A shape of the brumal 


It seemed as she listened, 


Rain, and the darkness 


Of some one who answered 1390 


Fearful and formless ; 


Beseeching, imploring, 


Day dawns and thou art not ! 


A cry from afar off 




, She could not distinguish. 


4 The dawn is not distant, 




Nor is the night starless ; 


The voice of Saint John, 


Love is eternal ! 


The beloved disciple, 


God is still God, and 


Who wandered and waited 


His faith shall not fail us ; 1440 


The Master's appearance, 


Christ is eternal ! ' 


Alone in the darkness, 




Unsheltered and friendless. 




4 It is accepted, 1400 


INTERLUDE 


The angry defiance, 




The challenge of battle ! 


A strain of music closed the tale, 


It is accepted, 


A low, monotonous, funeral wail, 


But not with the weapons 


That with its cadence, wild and 


Of war that thou wieldest ! 


sweet, 




Made the long Saga more com- 


1 Cross against corselet, 


plete. 


Love against hatred, 




Peace-cry for war-cry ! 


4 Thank God,' the Theologian said, 


Patience is powerful; 


4 The reign of violence is dead, 


He that o'ercometh 1410 


Or dying surely from the world ; 


Hath power o'er the nations ! 


While Love triumphant reigns in- 




stead, 


4 As torrents in summer, 


And in a brighter sky o'erhead 


Half dried in their channels, 


His blessed banners are unfurled. 


Suddenly rise, though the 


And most of all thank God for 


Sky is still cloudless, 


this : 


For rain has been falling 


The war and waste of clashing 


Far off at their fountains ; 


creeds 




Now end in words, and not in 


1 So hearts that are fainting 


deeds, 


Grow full to o'erflowing, 


And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, 


And they that beheld it 1420 


For thoughts that men call here- 


Marvel, and know not 


sies. 



302 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



' I stand without here in the porch, 
I hear the bell's melodious din, 
I hear the organ peal within, 
I hear the prayer, with words that 

scorch 
Like sparks from an inverted 

torch, 
I hear the sermon upon sin, 
With threatenings of the last ac- 
count. 
And all, translated in the air, 
Reach me but as our dear Lord's 

Prayer, 
And as the Sermon on the Mount. 

' Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? 

Must it be Athanasian creeds, 

Or holy water, books, and beads ? 

Must struggling souls remain con- 
tent 

With councils and decrees of 
Trent ? 

And can it be enough for these 

The Christian Church the year em- 
balms i 

With evergreens and boughs of 
palms, 

And fills the air with litanies ? 

' I know that yonder Pharisee 
Thanks God that he is not like me ; 
In my humiliation dressed, 
I only stand and beat my breast, 
And pray for human charity. 

'Not to one church alone, but 

seven, 
The voice prophetic spake from 

heaven ; 
And unto each the promise came, 
Diversified, but still the same ; 
For him that overcometh are 
The new name written on the 

stone, 
The raiment white, the crown, the 

throne, 
And I will give him the Morning 

Star! 

1 Ah ! to how many Faith has been 
No evidence of things unseen, 



But a dim shadow, that recasts 
The creed of the Phantasiasts, 
For whom no Man of Sorrows died, 
For whom the Tragedy Divine 
Was but a symbol and a sign, 
And Christ a phantom crucified! 

' For others a diviner creed 
Is living in the life they lead. 
The passing of their beautiful feet 
Blesses the pavement of the street, 
And all their looks and words re- 
peat 
Old Fuller's saying, wise and 

sweet, 
Not as a vulture, but a dove, 
The Holy Ghost came from above. 

'And this brings back to me a 

tale 
So sad the hearer well may quail, 
And question if such things can 

be; 
Yet in the chronicles of Spain 
Down the dark pages runs this 

stain, 
And naught can wash them white 

again, 
So fearful is the tragedy.' 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 
TORQUEMADA 

In the heroic days when Ferdi- 
nand 

And Isabella ruled the Spanish 
land, 

And Torquemada, with his subtle 
brain, 

Ruled them as Grand Inquisitor 
of Spain, 

In a great castle near Valladolid, 

Moated and high and by fair wood- 
lands hid, 

There dwelt, as from the chroni. 
cles we learn, 

An old Hidalgo proud and taci- 
turn, 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



3°3 



Whose name lias perished, with 

his towers of stone, 
And all his actions save this one 

alone; 10 

This one, so terrible, perhaps 

't were best 
If it, too, were forgotten with the 

rest; 
Unless, perchance, our eyes can 

see therein 
The martyrdom triumphant o'er 

the sin ; 
A double picture, with its gloom 

and glow, 
The splendor overhead, the death 

below. 

This sombre man counted each 
day as lost 

On which his feet no sacred thresh- 
old crossed ; 

And when he chanced the passing 
Host to meet, 

He knelt and prayed devoutly in 
the street ; 20 

Oft he confessed ; and with each 
mutinous thought, 

As with wild beasts at Ephesus, 
he fought. 

In deep contrition scourged him- 
self in Lent, 

Walked in processions, with his 
head down bent, 

At plays of Corpus Christi oft was 
seen, 

And on Palm Sunday bore his 
bough of green. 

His sole diversion was to hunt the 
boar 

Through tangled thickets of the 
forest hoar, 

Or with his jingling mules to hurry 
down 

To some grand bull-fight in the 
neighboring town, 30 

Or in the crowd with lighted taper 
stand, 

When Jews were burned, or ban- 
ished from the laud. 

Then stirred within him a tumultu- 
ous joy ; 



The demon whose delight is to 

destroy 
Shook him, and shouted with a 

trumpet tone, 
' Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find 

out his own ! ' 



And now, in that old castle in the 
wood, 

His daughters, in the dawn of 
womanhood, 

Keturning from their convent 
school, had made 

Kesplendent with their bloom the 
forest shade, 40 

Eeminding him of their dead mo- 
ther's face, 

When first she came into that 
gloomy place,— 

A memory in his heart as dim and 
sweet 

As moonlight in a solitary street. 

Where the same rays, that lift the 
sea, are thrown 

Lovely but powerless upon walls 
of stone. 

These two fair daughters of a 
mother dead 

Were all the dream had left him as 
it fled. 

A joy at first, and then a growing 
care, 

As if a voice within him cried, ' Be- 
ware ! ' 50 

A vague presentiment of impend- 
ing doom, 

Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant 
room, 

Haunted him day and night ; a 
formless fear 

That death to some one of his 
house was near, 

AVith dark surmises of a hidden 
crime, 

Made life itself a death before its 
time. 

Jealous, suspicious, with no sense 
of shame, 

A spy upon his daughters he be- 
came ; 



304 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



With velvet slippers, noiseless on 
the floors, 

He glided softly through half-open 
doors ; 60 

Now in the room, and now upon 
the stair, 

He stood beside them ere they 
were aware ; 

He listened in the passage when 
they talked, 

He watched them from the case- 
ment when they walked, 

He saw the gypsy haunt the river's 
side, 

He saw the monk among the cork- 
trees glide : 

And, tortured by the mystery and 
the doubt 

Of some dark secret, past his find- 
ing out, 

Baffled he paused ; then reassured 
again 

Pursued the flying phantom of his 
brain. 70 

He watched them even when they 
knelt in church ; 

And then, descending lower in his 
search, 

Questioned the servants, and with 
eager eyes 

Listened incredulous to their re- 
plies ; 

The gypsy ? none had seen her in 
the wood ! 

The monk? a mendicant in search 
of food ! 

At length the awful revelation 
came, 

Crushing at once his pride of birth 
and name ; 

The hopes his yearning bosom for- 
ward cast 

And the ancestral glories of the 
past, 80 

All fell together, crumbling in dis- 
grace, 

A turret rent from battlement to 
base. 

His daughters talking in the dead 
of night 



In their own chamber, and with 

out a light, 
Listening, as he was wont, he 

overheard, 
And learned the dreadful secret, 

word by word ; 
And hurrying from his castle, with 

a cry 
He raised his hands to the unpity- 

ing sky, 
Repeating one dread word, till 

bush and tree 
Caught it, and shuddering an- 
swered, ' Heresy ! ' 90 

"Wrapped in his cloak, his hat 

drawn o'er his face, 
Now hurrying forward, now with 

lingering pace, 
He walked all night the alleys of 

his park, 
With one unseen companion in the 

dark, 
The demon who within him lay in 

wait 
And by his presence turned his 

love to hate, 
Forever muttering in an under- 
tone, 
'Kill! kill! and let the Lord find 

out his own ! ' 

Upon the morrow,after early Mass, 

While yet the dew was glistening 
on the grass, 100 

And all the woods were musical 
with birds, 

The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful 
words. 

Walked homeward with the Priest, 
and in his room 

Summoned his trembling daugh- 
ters to their doom. 

When questioned, with brief an- 
swers they replied, 

Nor when accused evaded or de- 
nied ; 

Expostulations, passionate ap- 
peals, 

All that the human heart most 
fears or feels, 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



3°S 



In vain the Priest with earnest 
voice essayed ; 

In vain the father threatened, 
wept, and prayed , 1 10 

Until at last he said, with haughty 
mien, 

1 The Holy Office, then, must inter- 
vene ! ' 

And now the Grand Inquisitor of 
Spain, 

With all the fifty horsemen of his 
train, 

His awful name resounding, like 
the blast 

Of funeral trumpets, as he onward 
passed, 

Came to Valladolid, and there be- 
gan 

To harry the rich Jews with fire 
and ban. 

To him the Hidalgo went, and at 
the gate 

Demanded audience on affairs of 
state, 120 

And in a secret chamber stood be- 
fore 

A venerable graybeard of four- 
score, 

Dressed in the hood and habit of 
a friar ; 

Out of his eyes flashed a consum- 
ing fire, 

And in his hand the mystic horn 
he held, 

Which poison and all noxious 
charms dispelled. 

He heard in silence the Hidalgo's 
tale, 

Then answered in a voice that 
made him quail : 

* Son of the Church ! when Abra- 
ham of old 

To sacrifice his only son was 
told, 130 

He did not pause to parley nor 
protest, 

But hastened to obey the Lord's 
behest. 

In him it was accounted righteous- 
ness ; 



The Holy Church expects of thee 
• no less ! ' 

A sacred frenzy seized the father's 
brain, 

And Mercy from that hour im- 
plored in vain. 

Ah! who will e'er believe the 
words I say ? 

His daughters he accused, and 
the same day 

They both were cast into the 
dungeon's gloom, 

That dismal antechamber of the 
tomb, 140 

Arraigned, condemned, and sen- 
tenced to the flame, 

The secret torture and the public 
shame. 

Then to the Grand Inquisitor once 
more 

The Hidalgo went, more eager than 
before, 

And said : ' When Abraham of- 
fered up his son, 

He clave the wood wherewith it 
might be done. 

By his example taught, let me too 
bring 

Wood from the forest for my offer- 
ing!' 

And the deep voice, without a 
pause, replied : 

' Son of the Church ! by faith now 
justified, 150 

Complete thy sacrifice, even as 
thou wilt ; 

The Church absolves thy con- 
science from all guilt ! ' 

Then this most wretched father 

went his way 
Into the woods, that round his 

castle lay, 
Where once his daughters in their 

childhood played 
With their young mother in the 

sun and shade. 
Now all the leaves had fallen; the 

branches bare 



306 TALES OF A 


WAYSIDE INN 


Made a perpetual moaning in the 


And every roof and window was 


air, 


alive 


And screaming from their eyries 


With restless gazers, swarming 


overhead 


like a hive. 


The ravens sailed athwart the sky 




of lead. 1 60 


The church-bells tolled, the chant 


With his own hands he lopped the 


of monks drew near, 


houghs and hound 


Loud trumpets stammered forth 


Fagots, that crackled with fore- 


their notes of fear, 


boding sound, 


A line of torches smoked along 


And on his mules, caparisoned and 


the street, 


gay 


There was a stir, a rush, a tramp 


With hells and tassels, sent them 


of feet, 


on their way. 


And, with its banners floating in 




the air, 


Then with his mind on one dark 


Slowly the long procession crossed 


purpose bent, 


the square, 190 


Again to the Inquisitor he went, 


And, to the statues of the Pro- 


And said: 'Behold, the fagots I 


phets bound, 


have brought, 


The victims stood, with fagots 


And now, lest my atonement be as 


piled around. 


naught, 


Then all the air a blast of trum- 


Grant me one more request, one 


pets shook, 


last desire, — 


And louder sang the monks with 


With my own hand to light the 


bell and book, 


funeral fire ! ' 170 


And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and 


And Torquemada answered from 


proud, 


his seat, 


Lifted his torch, and, bursting 


4 Son of the Church ! Thine offer- 


through the crowd, 


ing is complete ; 


Lighted in haste the fagots, and 


Her servants through all ages 


then fled, 


shall not cease 


Lest those imploring eyes should 


To magnify thy deed. Depart in 


strike him dead ! 


peace ! ' 






pitiless skies ! why did your 


Upon the market-place, builded of 


clouds retain 


stone 


For peasants' fields their floods of 


The scaffold rose, whereon Death 


hoarded rain ? 200 


claimed his own. 


pitiless earth! why opened no 


At the four corners, in stern atti- 


abyss 


tude, 


To bury in its chasm a crime like 


Four statues of the Hebrew Pro- 


this? 


phets stood, 




Gazing with calm indifference in 


That night, a mingled column of 


their eyes 


fire and smoke 


Upon this place of human sacri- 


From the dark thickets of the for- 


fice, 180 


est broke, 


Bound which was gathering fast 


And, glaring o'er the landscape 


the eager crowd, 


leagues away, 


With clamor of voices dissonant 


Made all the fields and hamlets 


and loud, 


bright as day. 



THE POET'S TALE 



307 



Wrapped in a sheet of flame the 

castle blazed, 
And as the villagers in terror 

gazed, 
They saw the figure of that cruel 

knight 
Lean from a window in the turret's 

height, 210 

His ghastly face illumined with 

the glare, 
His hands upraised above his head 

in prayer, 
Till the floor sank beneath him, 

and he fell 
Down the black hollow of that 

burning well. 

Three centuries and more above 

his bones 
Have piled the oblivious years like 

funeral stones ; 
His name has perished with him, 

and no trace 
Remains on earth of his afflicted 

race; 
But Torquemada's name, with 

clouds o'ercast, 
Looms in the distant landscape of 

the Past, 220 

Like a burnt tower upon a black- 
ened heath, 
Lit by the fires of burning woods 

beneath ! 



INTERLUDE 

Thus closed the tale of guilt and 
gloom, 

That cast upon each listener's 
face 

Its shadow, and for some brief 
space 

Unbroken silence filled the room. 

The Jew was thoughtful and dis- 
tressed ; 

Upon his memory thronged and 
pressed 

The persecution of his race, 

Their wrongs and sufferings and 
disgrace ; 



His head was sunk upon his 

breast, 
And from his eyes alternate came 
Flashes of wrath and tears of 

shame. 

The Student first the silence 

broke, 
As one who long has lain in wait, 
With purpose to retaliate, 
And thus he dealt the avenging 

stroke. 
' In such a company as this, 
A tale so tragic seems amiss, 
That by its terrible control 
O'ermasters and drags down the 

soul 
Into a fathomless abyss. 
The Italian Tales that you dis- 
dain, 
Some merry Night of Straparole, 
Or Machiavelli's Belphagor, 
Would cheer us and delight us 

more, 
Give greater pleasure and less 

pain 
Than your grim tragedies of 

Spain ! ' 

And here the Poet raised his 

hand, 
With such entreaty and command, 
It stopped discussion at its birth, 
And said : ' The story I shall tell 
Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; 
Listen, and hear what once befell 
The merry birds of Killingworth ! ' 



THE POET'S TALE 
THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH 

It was the season, when through 
all the land 
The merle and mavis build, and 
building sing 
Those lovely lyrics, written by His 
hand, 
Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the 
Blithe-heart King ; 



3 o8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



When on the boughs the purple 

buds expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of 

the Spring, 
And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and 

leap, 
And wave their fluttering signals 

from the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping 

loud, 
Filled all the blossoming or- 
chards with their glee ; 10 
The sparrows chirped as if they 

still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should 

mentioned be ; 
And hungry crows, assembled in a 

crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer 

incessantly, 
Knowing who hears the ravens 

cry, and said: 
'Give us, O Lord, this day, our 

daily bread ! ' 

Across the Sound the birds of pas- 
sage sailed, 
Speaking some unknown lan- 
guage strange and sweet 

Of tropic isle remote, and passing 
hailed 
The' village with the cheers of 
all their fleet ; 20 

Or quarrelling together, laughed 
and railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in 
the street 

Of seaport town, and with out- 
landish noise 

Of oaths and gibberish frightening 
girls and boys. 

Thus came the jocund Spring in 
Killingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred 
years ago ; 
And thrifty farmers, as they tilled 
the earth, 
Heard with alarm the cawing of 
the crow, 



That mingled with the universal 

mirth, 
Cassandra-like, prognosticating 

woe ; 30 

They shook their heads, and 

doomed with dreadful words 
To swift destruction the whole 

race of birds. 

And a town-meeting was convened 
straightway 
To set a price upon the guilty 
heads 

Of these marauders, who, in lieu of 
pay, 
Levied black-mail upon the gar- 
den beds 

And cornfields, and beheld with- 
out dismay 
The awful scarecrow, with his 
fluttering shreds ; 

The skeleton that waited at their 
feast, 

Whereby their sinful pleasure was 
increased. 40 

Then from his house, a temple 

painted white, 
With fluted columns, and a roof 

of red, 
The Squire came forth, august and 

splendid sight ! 
Slowly descending, with majestic 

tread, 
Three flights of steps, nor looking 

left nor right, 
Down the long street he walked, 

as one who said, 
'A town that boasts inhabitants 

like me 
Can have no lack of good society ! ' 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man 
austere, 
The instinct of whose nature 
was to kill ; 50 

The wrath of God he preached 
from year to year, 
And read, with fervor, Edwards 
on the Will ; 



THE POET'S TALE 



309 



His favorite pastime was to slay 

the deer 
In Summer on some Adirondac 

hill; 
E'en now, while walking down the 

rural lane, 
He lopped the wayside lilies with 

his cane. 

From the Academy, whose helfry 

crowned 
The hill of Science with its vane 

of brass, 
Came the Preceptor, gazing idly 

round, 
Now at the clouds, and now at 

the green grass, 60 

And all absorbed in reveries pro- 
found 
Of fair Almira in the upper class, 
Who was, as in a sonnet he had 

said, 
As pure as water, and as good as 

bread. 

And next the Deacon issued from 

his door, 
In his voluminous neck-cloth, 

white as snow ; 
A suit of sable bombazine he 

wore; 
His form was ponderous, and 

his step was slow ; 
There never was so wise a man 

before ; 
He seemed the incarnate ' "Well, 

I told you so ! ' 70 

And to perpetuate his great re- 
nown 
There was a street named after 

him in town. 

These came together in the new 
town-hall, 
"With sundry farmers from the 
region round. 
The Squire presided, dignified and 
tall, 
His air impressive and his rea- 
soning sound ; 



111 fared it with the birds, both 

great and small ; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd 

they found, 
But enemies enough, who every 

one 
Charged them with all the crimes 

beneath the sun. 80 

When they had ended, from his 

place apart 
Eose the Preceptor, to redress 

the wrong, 
And, trembling like a steed before 

the start, 
Looked round bewildered on the 

expectant throng ; 
Then thought of fair Almira, and 

took heart 
To speak out what was in him, 

clear and strong, 
Alike regardless of their smile or 

frown, 
And quite determined not to be 

laughed down. 

' Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 

From his Republic banished 

without pity 90 

The Poets ; in this little town of 
yours, 
You put to death, by means of a 
Committee, 

The ballad-singers and the Trou- 
badours, 
The street-musicians of the hea- 
venly city, 

The birds, who make sweet music 
for us all 

In our dark hours, as David did 
for Saul. 

'The thrush that carols at the 
dawn of day 
From the green steeples of the 
piny wood ; 
The oriole in the elm ; the noisy 
jay, 
Jargoning like a foreigner at his 
food ; 100 



3io 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The bluebird balanced on some 
topmost spray, 
Flooding with melody the neigh- 
borhood ; 

Linnet and meadow-lark, and all 
the throng 

That dwell in nests, and have the 
gift of song. 

1 You slay them all ! and where- 
fore ? for the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less 
of wheat, 

Or rye, or barley, or some other 
grain, 
Scratched up at random by in- 
dustrious feet, 

Searching for worm or weevil after 
rain ! 
Or a few cherries, that are not 
so sweet no 

As are the songs these uninvited 
guests 

Sing at their feast with comforta- 
ble breasts. 

' Do you ne'er think what won- 
drous beings these? 
Do you ne'er think who made 
them, and who taught 

The dialect they speak, where 
melodies 
Alone are the interpreters of 
thought ? 

Whose household words are songs 
in many keys, 
Sweeter than instrument of man 
e'er caught ! 

Whose habitations in the tree-tops 
even 

Are half-way houses on the road 
to heaven ! 120 

* Think, every morning when the 
sun peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows 
of the grove, 
How jubilant the happy birds re- 
new 
Their old, melodious madrigals 
of love I 



And when you think of this, re. 

jnember too 
'T is always morning somewhere, 

and above 
The awakening continents, from 

shore to shore, 
Somewhere the birds are singing 

evermore. 

' Think of your woods and orchards 

without birds ! 
Of empty nests that cling to 

boughs and beams 130 

As in an idiot's brain remembered 

words 
Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs 

of his dreams ! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of 

herds 
Make up for the lost music, 

when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, 

and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to 

your door ? 

' What ! would you rather see the 

incessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of 

the hay, 
And hear the locust and the grass- 
hopper 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies 

play? 140 

Is this more pleasant to you than 

the whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet 

roundelay, 
Or twitter of little field-fares, as 

you take 
Your nooning in the shade of bush 

and brake ? 

' You call them thieves and pilla- 
gers : but know, 
They are the winged wardens of 
your farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the 
insidious foe, 
And from your harvests keep a 
hundred harms ; 



THE POET'S TALE 



3" 



Even the blackest of them all, the 

crow, 
Benders good service as your 

man-at-arms, 150 

Crushing the beetle in his coat of 

mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and 

snail. 

•How can I teach your children 
gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and rev- 
erence 

For Life, which, in its weakness 
or excess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipo- 
tence, 

Or Death, which, seeming dark- 
ness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although 
averted hence, 

When by your laws, your actions, 
and your speech, 

You contradict the very things I 
teach ? ' 160 

With this he closed ; and through 

the audience went 
A murmur, like the rustle of 

dead leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, 

and some bent 
Their yellow heads together like 

their sheaves ; 
Men have no faith in fine-spun 

sentiment 
Who put their trust in bullocks 

and in beeves. 
The birds were doomed ; and, as 

the record shows, 
A bounty offered for the beads of 

crows. 

There was another audience out 
of reach, 
Who had no voice nor vote in 
making laws, 170 

But in the papers read his little 
speech, 
And crowned his modest temples 
with applause ; 



They made him conscious, each 
one more than each, 
He still was victor, vanquished 
in their cause. 

Sweetest of all the applause he 
won from thee, 

O fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so the dreadful massacre be- 
gan; 
O'er fields and orchards, and 
o'er woodland crests, 

The ceaseless fusillade of terror 
ran. 
Dead fell the birds, with blood- 
stains on their breasts, 180 

Or wounded crept away from sight 
of man, 
While the young died of famine 
in their nests ; 

A slaughter to be told in groans, 
not words, 

The very St. Bartholomew of 
Birds ! 

The Summer came, and all the 

birds were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals; 

the very ground 
Was burned to ashes ; in the or- 
chards fed 
Myriads of caterpillars, and 

around 
The cultivated fields and garden 

beds 
Hosts of devouring insects 

crawled, and found 190 

No foe to check their march, till 

they had made 
The land a desert without leaf or 

shade. 

Devoured by worms, like Herod, 
was the town, 
Because, like Herod, it had ruth- 
lessly 
Slaughtered the Innocents. From 
the trees spun down 
The canker - worms upon the 
passers-by. 



%\2 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, 
and gown, 
Who shook them off with just a 
little cry ; 

They were the terror of each fa- 
vorite walk, 

The endless theme of all the vil- 
lage talk. 200 

The farmers grew impatient, but 
a few 
Confessed their error, and would 
not complain, 

For after all, the best thing one 
can do 
When it is raining, is to let it 
rain. 

Then they repealed the law, al- 
though they knew 
It would not call the dead to life 
again ; 

As school-boys, finding their mis- 
take too late, 

Draw a wet sponge across the ac- 
cusing slate. 

That year in Killingworth the Au- 
tumn came 
Without the light of his majestic 
look, 210 

The wonder of the falling tongues 
of flame, 
The illumined pages of his 
Doom's- Day book. 

A few lost leaves blushed crimson 
with their shame, 
And drowned themselves de- 
spairing in the brook, 

While the wild wind went moan- 
ing everywhere, 

Lamenting the dead children of 
the air ! 

But the next Spring a stranger 
sight was seen, 
A sight that never yet by bard 
was sung, 
As great a wonder as it would 
have been 
If some dumb animal had found 
a tongue » 220 



A wagon, overarched with ever. 

green, 
Upon whose boughs were wicker 

cages hung, 
All full of singing birds, came 

down the street, 
Filling the air with music wild and 

sweet. 

From all the country round these 

birds were brought, 
By order of the town, with anx- 
ious quest, 
And, loosened from their wicker 

prisons, sought 
In woods and fields the places 

they loved best, 
Singing loud canticles, which many 

thought 
Were satires to the authorities 

addressed, 230 

While others, listening in green 

lanes, averred 
Such lovely music never had been 

heard ! 

But blither still and louder car- 
olled they 
Upon the morrow, for they 
seemed to know 

It was the fair Almira's wedding- 
day, 
And everywhere, around, above, 
below, 

When the Preceptor bore his bride 
away, 
Their songs burst forth in joyous 
overflow, 

And a new heaven bent over a 
new earth 

Amid the sunny farms of Killing, 
worth. 240 



FINALE 

The hour was late ; the fire burned 

low, 
The Landlord's eyes were closed 

in sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep, 



PRELUDE 



313 



Sonorous sound at times was 

heard, 
As when the distant hagpipes blow. 
At this all laughed ; the Landlord 

stirred, 
As one awaking from a swound, 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 
His ears attentive to each word. 

Then all arose, and said ' Good 

Night.' 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 
To rake the embers of the fire, 
And quench the waning parlor 

light; 
While from the windows, here and 

there, 
The scattered lamps a moment 

gleamed, 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 
Sinking and setting toward the 

sun. 
Far off the village clock struck 

one. 



PART SECOND 
PEELUDE 

A cold, uninterrupted rain, 

That washed each southern win- 
dow-pane, 

And made a river of the road ; 

A sea of mist that overflowed 

The house, the barns, the gilded 
vane, 

And drowned the upland and the 
plain, 

Through which the oak - trees, 
broad and high, 

Like phantom ships went drifting 
by; 

And, hidden behind a watery 
screen, 

The sun unseen, or only seen 10 

A.» a taint pallor in the sky ; — 



Thus cold and colorless and gray, 
The morn of that autumnal day, 
As if reluctant to begin, 
Dawned on the silent Sudbury 

Inn, 
And all the guests that in it lay. 

Full late they slept. They did not 

hear 
The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 
Who on the empty threshing-floor, 
Disdainful of the rain outside, 20 
Was strutting with a martial 

stride, 
As if upon his thigh he wore 
The famous broadsword of the 

Squire, 
And said, 'Behold me, and ad- 

mire ! ' 

Only the Poet seemed to hear, 
In drowse or dream, more near 

and near 
Across the border-land of sleep, 
The blowing of a blithesome horn, 
That laughed the dismal day to 

scorn ; 
A splash of hoofs and rush of 

wheels 30 

Through sand and mire like strand- 
ing keels, 
As from the road with sudden 

sweep 
The Mail drove up the little steep, 
And stopped beside the tavern 

door ; 
A moment stopped, and then again 
With crack of whip and bark of 

dog 
Plunged forward through the sea 

of fog, 
And all was silent as before, — 
All silent save the dripping, rain. 

Then one by one the guests came 
down, 40 

And greeted with a smile the 
Squire, 

Who sat before the parlor fire, 

Reading the paper fresh from 
town. 



3 J 4 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



First the Sicilian, like a bird, 
Before his form appeared, was 

heard 
Whistling and singing down the 

stair ; 
Then came the Student, with a 

look 
As placid as a meadow-brook ; 
The Theologian, still perplexed 
With thoughts of this world and 
the next ; 50 

The Poet then, as one who seems 
Walking in visions and in dreams 5 
Then the Musician, like a fair 
Hyperion from whose golden hair 
The radiance of the morning 

streams ; 
And last the aromatic Jew 
Of Alicant, who, as he threw 
The door wide open, on the air 
Breathed round about him a per- 
fume 
Of damask roses in full bloom, 60 
Making a garden of the room. 

The breakfast ended, each pur- 
sued 
The promptings of his various 

mood ; 
Beside the fire in silence smoked 
The taciturn, impassive Jew, 
Lost in a pleasant revery ; 
While, by his gravity provoked, 
His portrait the Sicilian drew, 
And wrote beneath it ' Edrehi, 
At the Red Horse in Sudbury.' 70 

By far the busiest of them all, 
The Theologian in the hall 
Was feeding robins in a cage, — 
Two corpulent and lazy birds, 
Vagrants and pilferers at best. 
If one might trust the hostler's 

words, 
Chief instrument of their arrest ; 
Two poets of the Golden Age, 
Heirs of a boundless heritage 
Of fields and orchards, east and 

west, 80 

And sunshine of long summer 

days, 



Though outlawed now and dispos* 

sessed!-- 
Such was the Theologian's phrase. 

Meanwhile the Student held dis. 

course 
With the Musician, on the source 
Of all the legendary lore 
Among the nations, scattered wide 
Like silt and seaweed by the force 
And fluctuation of the tide ; 
The tale repeated o'er and o'er, 90 
With change of place and change 

of name, 
Disguised, transformed, and yet 

the same 
We 've heard a hundred times be. 

fore. 

The Poet at the window mused, 
And saw, as in a dream confused, 
The countenance of the Sun, dis. 

crowned, 
And haggard with a pale despair, 
And saw the cloud-rack trail and 

drift 
Before it, and the trees uplift 
Their leafless branches, and the 

air 10a 

Filled with the arrows of the rain, 
And heard amid the mist below, 
Like voices of distress and pain, 
That haunt the thoughts of men 

insane, 
The fateful ca wings of the crow. 

Then down the road, with mud be- 
sprent, 

And drenched with rain from head 
to hoof, 

The rain-drops dripping from his 
mane 

And tail as from a pent-house roof, 

A jaded horse, his head down 
bent, no 

Passed slowly, limping as he went. 

The young Sicilian — who had 

grown 
Impatient longer to abide 
A prisoner, greatly mortified 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



3i5 



To see completely overthrown 
His plans for angling in the brook, 
And, leaning o'er the bridge of 

stone, 
To watch the speckled trout glide 

by, 

And float through the inverted sky, 

Still round and round the baited 

hook — 120 

Now paced the room with rapid 

stride, 
And, pausing at the Poet's side, 
Looked forth, and saw the wretch- 
ed steed, 
And said : ' Alas for human greed, 
That with cold hand and stony 

eye 
Thus turns an old friend out to die, 
Or beg his food from gate to gate ! 
This brings a tale into my mind, 
Which, if you are not disinclined 
To listen, I will now relate.' 130 

All gave assent; all wished to 

hear, 
Not without many a jest and jeer, 
The story of a spavined steed ; 
And even the Student with the rest 
Put in his pleasant little jest 
Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus 
Is but a horse that with all speed 
Bears poets to the hospital ; 
While the Sicilian, self-possessed, 
After a moment's interval 140 

Began his simple story thus. 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

THE BELL OP ATRI 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 
Of ancient Roman date, but scant 

renown, 
One of those little places that have 

run 
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing 

sun, 
And then sat down to rest, as if to 

say, 
I climb no farther upward, come 

what may,' — 



The Re Giovanni, now unknown to 

fame, 
So many monarchs since have 

borne the name, 
Had a great bell hung in the mar- 
ket-place, 
Beneath a roof, projecting some 

small space 10 

By way of shelter from the sun 

and rain. 
Then rode he through the streets 

with all his train, 
And, with the blast of trumpets 

loud and long, 
Made proclamation, that whenever 

wrong 
Was done to any man, he should 

but ring 
The great bell in the square, and 

he, the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide 

thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King 

John. 



How swift the happy days in Atri 

sped, 
What wrongs were righted, need 

not here be said. 20 

Suffice it that, as all things must 

decay, 
The hempen rope at length was 

worn away, 
Unravelled at the end, and, strand 

by strand, 
Loosened and wasted in the ring- 
er's hand, 
Till one, who noted this in passing 

by, 
Mended the rope with braids of 

briony, 
So that the leaves and tendrils of 

the vine 
Hung like a votive garland at a 

shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri 

dwelt 
A knight, with spur on heel and 

sword in belt. 30 



3* 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Who loved to hunt the wild-boar 

in the woods, 
Who loved his falcons with their 

crimson hoods, 
Who loved his hounds and horses, 

and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and 

courts ; — 
Loved, or had loved them ; for at 

last, grown old, 
His only passion was the love of 

gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks 
and hounds, 

Rented his vineyards and his gar- 
den-grounds, 

Kept but one steed, his favorite 
steed of all, 

To starve and shiver in a naked 
stall, 4 o 

And day by day sat brooding in 
his chair, 

Devising plans how best to hoard 
and spare. 

At length he said: 'What is the 

use or need 
To keep at my own cost this lazy 

steed, 
Eating his head off in my stables 

here, 
When rents are low and provender 

is dear ? 
Let him go feed upon the public 

ways; 
I want him only for the holidays.' 
So the old steed was turned into 

the heat 
Of the long, lonely, silent, shade- 
less street ; 50 
And wandered in suburban lanes 

forlorn, 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by 

brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry 

clime 
It is the custom in the summer 

time, 



With bolted doors and window- 
shutters closed, 

The inhabitants of Atri slept or 
dozed; 

When suddenly upon their senses 
fell 

The loud alarm of the accusing 
bell ! 

The Syndic started from his deep 
repose, 

Turned on his couch, and listened, 
and then rose 60 

And donned his robes, and with re- 
luctaht pace 

Went panting forth into the mar- 
ket-place, 

Where the great bell upon its cross- 
beams swung, 

Reiterating with persistent tongue, 

In half-articulate jargon, the old 
song' 

' Some one hath done a wrong, 
hath done a wrong ! ' 

But ere he reached the belfry's 
light arcade 

He saw, or thought he saw, be- 
neath its shade, 

No shape of human form of woman 
born, 

But a poor steed dejected and for- 
lorn, 70 

Who with uplifted head and eager 
eye 

Was tugging at the vines of briony. 

' Domeneddio ! ' cried the Syndic 
straight, 

' This is the Knight of Atri's steed 
of state ! 

He calls for justice, being sore dis- 
tressed, 

And pleads his cause as loudly an 
the best.' 

Meanwhile from street and lane a 

noisy crowd 
Had rolled together like a summer 

cloud, 
And told the story of the wretched 

beast 



INTERLUDE 



317 



In five-and-twenty different ways 
at least, So 

With much gesticulation and ap- 
peal 

To heathen gods, in their exces- 
sive zeal. 

The Knight was called and ques- 
tioned ; in reply 

Did not confess the fact, did not 
deny; 

Treated the matter as a pleasant 
jest, 

And set at naught the Syndic and 
the rest, 

Maintaining, in an angry under- 
tone, 

That he should do what pleased 
him with his own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely 

read 
The proclamation of the King; 

then said : 90 

'Pride goeth forth on horseback 

grand and gay, 
But cometh hack on foot, and hegs 

its way ; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic 

deeds, 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of 

weeds ! 
These are familiar proverbs; but 

I fear 
They never yet have reached your 

knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, 

what repute 
Can come to you from starving this 

poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks 

not, merits more 
Than they who clamor loudest at 

the door. 100 

Therefore the law decrees that as 

this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth 

you shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to pro- 
vide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field 

beside.' 



The Knight withdrew abashed ; 

the people all 
Led home the steed in triumph to 

his stall. 
The King heard and approved, and 

laughed in glee, 
And cried aloud: 'Eight well it 

pleaseth me ! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to 

the door ; 
But go not in to mass; my bell 

doth more : • no 

It cometh into court and pleads 

the cause 
Of creatures dumb and unknown 

to the laws ; 
And this shall make, in every 

Christian clime, 
The Bell of Atri famous for all 

time.' 

INTEKLUDE 

4 Yes, well your story pleads the 

cause 
Of those dumb mouths that have 

no speech, 
Only a cry from each to each 
In its own kind, with its own laws ; 
Something that is beyond the reach 
Of human power to learn or 

teach, — 
An inarticulate moan of pain, 
Like the immeasurable main 
Breaking upon an unknown 

beach.' 

Thus spake the Poet with a sigh ; 
Then added, with impassioned cry, 
As one who feels the words he 

speaks, 
The color flushing in his cheeks, 
The fervor burning in his eye : 
' Among the noblest in the land, 
Though he may count himself the 

least, 
That man I honor and revere 
Who without favor, without fear, 
In the great city dares to stand 
The friend of every friendless 

beast, 



3*8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And tames with his unflinching 

hand 
The brutes that wear our form and 

face, 
The were-wolves of the human 

race ! ' 
Then paused, and waited with a 

frown, 
Like some old champion of ro- 
mance, 
Who, having thrown his gauntlet 

down, . 
Expectant leans upon his lance ; 
But neither Knight nor Squire is 

found 
To raise the gauntlet from the 

ground, 
And try with him the battle's 

chance. 

' Wake from your dreams, O Ed- 

rehi ! 
Or dreaming speak to us, and make 
A feint of being half awake, 
And tell us what your dreams may 

be. 
Out of the bazy atmosphere 
Of cloud-land deign to reappear 
Among us in this Wayside Inn ; 
Tell us what visions and what 

scenes 
Illuminate the dark ravines 
In which you grope your way. Be- 
gin!' 

Thus the Sicilian spake. The 

Jew 
Made no reply, but only smiled, 
As men unto a wayward child, 
Not knowing what to answer, do. 
As from a cavern's mouth, o'er- 

grown 
With moss and intertangled vines, 
A streamlet leaps into the light 
And murmurs over root and stone 
In a melodious undertone ; 
Or as amid the noonday night 
Of sombre and wind-haunted pines 
There runs a sound as of the sea ; 
Bo from his bearded lips there 

came 



A melody without a name, 
A song, a tale, a history, 
Or whatsoever it may be, 
Writ and recorded in these lines. 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 

KAMBALU 

Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispa- 
han, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms 

afar, 
Baldacca and Kelat and Kanda- 
har, 
Kode the great captain Alau. 

The Khan from his palace-window 

gazed, 
And saw in the thronging street 

beneath, 
In the light of the setting sun, that 

blazed 
Through the clouds of dust by the 

caravan raised, 10 

The flash of harness and jewelled 

sheath, 
And the shining scimitars of the 

guard, 
And the weary camels that bared 

their teeth, 
As they passed and passed 

through the gates unbarred 
Into the shade of the palace-yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 

Kode the great captain Alau ; 

And he stood before the Khan, and 
said: 

' The enemies of my lord are dead ; 

All the Kalifs of all the West 20 

Bow and obey thy least behest ; 

The plains are dark with the mul- 
berry-trees, 

The weavers are busy in Samar- 
cand, 

The miners are sifting the golden 
sand, 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 



319 



The divers plunging for pearls in 

the seas, 
And peace and plenty are in the 

land. 

'Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone, 
Rose in revolt against thy throne : 
His treasures are at thy palace- 
door, 
With the swords and the shawls 
and the jewels he wore ; 30 
His body is dust o'er the desert 
blown. 

' A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 
I left my forces to lie in wait, 
Concealed by forests and hillocks 

of sand, 
And forward dashed with a hand- 
ful of men, 
To lure the old tiger from his 

den 
Into the ambush I had planned. 
Ere we reached the town the alarm 

was spread, 
For we heard the sound of gongs 

from within ; 
And with clash of cymbals and 

warlike din 40 

The gates swung wide; and we 

turned and fled ; 
And the garrison sallied forth and 

pursued, 
With the gray old Kalif at their 

head, 
And above them the banner of 

Mohammed ; 
So we snared them all, and the 

town was subdued. 

* As in at the gate we rode, behold, 

A tower that is called the Tower 
of Gold ! 

For there the Kalif had hidden his 
wealth, 

Heaped and hoarded and piled on 
high, 

Like sacks of wheat in a gran- 
ary ; 50 

And thither the miser crept by 
stealth 



To feel of the gold that gave him 
health, 

And to gaze and gloat with his 
hungry eye 

On jewels that gleamed like aglow- 
worm's spark, 

Or the eyes of a panther in the 
dark. 

' I said to the Kalif : " Thou art 

old, 
Thou hast no need of so much 

gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped 

and hidden it here, 
Till the breath of battle was hot 

and near, 
But have sown through the land 

these useless hoards 60 

To spring into shining blades of 

swords, 
And keep thine honor sweet and 

clear. 
These grains of gold are not grains 

of wheat ; 
These bars of silver thou canst not 

eat; 
These jewels and pearls and pre- 
cious stones 
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 
Nor keep the feet of Death one 

hour 
From climbing the stairways of 

thy tower ! " 

' Then into his dungeon I locked 

the drone, 
And left him to feed there all 

alone 70 

In the honey-cells of his golden 

hive; 
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a 

groan 
Was heard from those massive 

walls of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen 

alive ! 

' When at last we unlocked the 

door, 
We found him dead upon the floor; 



320 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The rings had dropped from his 
withered hands, 

His teeth were like hones in the 
desert sands : 

Still clutching his treasure he had 
died; 

And as he lay there, he ap- 
peared 80 

A statue of gold with a silver 
beard, 

His arms outstretched as if cruci- 
fied.' 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alau 
Told to his brother the Tartar 

Khan, 
When he rode that day into Kam- 

balu 
By the road that leadeth to Ispa- 
han. 



INTERLUDE 

* I thought before your tale be- 
gan,' 
The Student murmured, ' we 

should have 
Some legend written by Judah Rav 
In his Gemara of Babylon ; 
Or something from the Gulistan, — 
The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan, 
Or of that King of Khorasan 
Who saw in dreams the eyes of one 
That had a hundred years been 

dead 
Still moving restless in his head, 
Undimmed, and gleaming with the 

lust 
Of power, though all the rest was 
dust. 

' But lo ! your glittering caravan 
On the road that leadeth to Ispa- 
han 
Hath led us farther to the East 
Into the regions of Cathay. 
Spite of your Kalif and his gold, 
Pleasant has been the tale you 
told, 



And full of color ; that at leapt 
No one will question or gainsay. 
And yet on such a dismal day 
We need a merrier tale to clear 
The dark and heavy atmosphere. 
So listen, Lordlings, while I tell, 
Without a preface, what befell 
A simple cobbler, in the year — 
No matter ; it was long ago ; 
And that is all we need to know.' 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU 

I trust that somewhere, and 

somehow 
You all have heard of Hagenau, 
A quiet, quaint, and ancient town 
Among the green Alsatian hills, 
A place of valleys, streams, and 

mills, 
Where Barbarossa's castle, brown 
With rust of centuries, still looks 

down 
On the broad, drowsy land be- 
low, — 
On shadowy forests filled with 

game, 
And the blue river winding slow 10 
Through meadows, where the 

hedges grow 
That give this little town its name. 

It happened in the good old times, 
While yet the Master-singers filled 
The noisy workshop and the guild 
With various melodies and rhymes, 
That here in Hagenau there dwelt 
A cobbler, — one who loved de- 
bate, 
And, arguing from a postulate, 
Would say what others only 
felt ; 20 

A man of forecast and of thrift, 
And of a shrewd and careful mind 
In this world's business, but in- 

clined 
Somewhat to let the next world 
drift. 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



321 



Hans Sachs with vast delight lie 

read, 
And Regenbogen's rhymes of love, 
For their poetic fame had spread 
Even to the town of Hagenau ; 
And some Quick Melody of the 

Plough, 
Or Double Harmony of the 

Dove 30 

Was always running in his head. 
He kept, moreover, at his side, 
Among his leathers and his tools, 
Eeynard the Fox, the Ship of 

Fools, 
Or Eulenspiegel, open wide ; 
"With these he was much edified : 
He thought them wiser than the 

Schools. 

His good wife, full of godly fear, 
Liked not these worldly themes to 

hear ; 
The Psalter was her book of 

songs ; 40 

The only music to her ear 
Was that which to the Church be- 
longs, 
When the loud choir on Sunday 

chanted, 
And the two angels carved in 

wood, 
That by the windy organ stood, 
Blew on their trumpets loud and 

clear, 
And all the echoes, far and near, 
Gibbered as if the church were 

haunted. 

Outside his door, one afternoon, 
This humble votary of the muse 50 
Sat in the narrow strip of shade 
By a projecting cornice made, 
Mending the Burgomaster's shoes, 
And singing a familiar tune : — 

' Our ingress into the world 

Was naked and bare ; 

Our progress through the world 

Is trouble and care ; 

Our egress from the world 

Will be nobody knows where : 



But if we do well here 61 

We shall do well there ; 
And I could tell you no more, 
Should I preach a whole year ! ' 

Thus sang the cobbler at his work ; 
And with his gestures marked the 

time, 
Closing together with a jerk 
Of his waxed thread the stitch and 

rhyme. 

Meanwhile his quiet little dame 
Was leaning o'er the window- 
sill, 70 
Eager, excited, but mouse-still, 
Gazing impatiently to see 
What the great throng of folk 

might be 
That onward in procession came, 
Along the unfrequented street, 
With horns that blew, and drums 

that beat, 
And banners flying, and the flame 
Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet 
Voices of nuns ; and as they sang 
Suddenly all the church -bells 
rang. 80 

In a gay coach, above the crowd, 
There sat a monk in ample hood, 
Who with his right hand held aloft 
A red and ponderous cross of 

wood, 
To which at times he meekly 

bowed. 
In front three horsemen rode, and 

oft, 
With voice and air importunate, 
A boisterous herald cried aloud : 
' The grace of God is at your gate !' 
So onward to the church they 

passed. go 

The cobbler slowly turned his last, 
And, wagging his sagacious head, 
Unto his kneeling housewife said: 
' 'T is the monk Tetzel. I have 

heard 
The cawings of that reverend 

bird. 



322 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Don't let him cheat you of your 

gold; 
Indulgence is not bought and 

sold.' 

The church of Hagenau, that 

night, 
Was full of people, full of light ; 
An odor of incense filled the 

air, ioo 

The priest intoned, the organ 

groaned . 
Its inarticulate despair ; 
The candles on the altar blazed, 
And full in front of it upraised 
The red cross stood against the 

glare. 
Below, upon the altar-rail 
Indulgences were set to sale, 
Like ballads at a country fair. 
A heavy strong-box, iron-bound 
And carved with many a quaint 

device, no 

Received, with a melodious sound, 
The coin that purchased Paradise. 

Then from the pulpit overhead, 
Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, 
Thundered upon the crowd below. 
' Good people all, draw near ! ' he 

said; 
' Purchase these letters, signed 

and sealed, 
By which all sins, though unre- 

vealed 
And unrepented, are forgiven ! 
Count but the gain, count not the 
loss ! 120 

Your gold and silver are but dross, 
And yet they pave the way to hea- 
ven. 
I hear your mothers and your sires 
Cry from their purgatorial fires, 
And will ye not their ransom pay? 

senseless people ! when the gate 
Of heaven is open, will ye wait ? 
Will ye not enter in to-day ? 
To-morrow it will be too late ; 

1 shall be gone upon my way. 130 
Make haste ! bring money while 

ye may ! ' 



The women shuddered, and turned 

pale ; 
Allured by hope or driven by fear, 
With many a sob and many a tear, 
All crowded to the altar-rail. 
Pieces of silver and of gold 
Into the tinkling strong-box fell 
Like pebbles dropped into a well ; 
And soon the ballads were all 

sold. 
The cobbler's wife among the 
rest 140 

Slipped into the capacious chest 
A golden florin ; then withdrew, 
Hiding the paper in her breast ; 
And homeward through the dark- 
ness went 
Comforted, quieted, content; 
She did not walk, she rather flew, 
A dove that settles to her nest. 
When some appalling bird of prey 
That scared her has been driven 
away. 

The days went by, the monk was 

gone, 150 

The summer passed, the winter 

came; 
Though seasons changed, yet still 

the same 
The daily round of life went on ; 
The daily round of household care, 
The narrow life of toil and prayer. 
But in her heart the cobbler's 

dame 
Had now a treasure beyond price, 
A secret joy without a name, 
The certainty of Paradise. 
Alas, alas ! Dust unto dust ! 160 
Before the winter wore away, 
Her body in the churchyard lay, 
Her patient soul was with the 

Just ! 
After her death, among the things 
That even the poor preserve with 

care, — 
Some little trinkets and cheap 

rings, 
A locket with her mother's hair, 
Her wedding gown, the faded 

flowers 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



323 



She wore upon her wedding day, — 
Among these memories of past 
hours, 170 

That so much of the heart reveal, 
Carefully kept and put away, 
The Letter of Indulgence lay 
Folded, with signature and seal. 

Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved 
and pained, 

"Waited and wondered that no 
word 

Of mass or requiem he heard, 

As by the Holy Church ordained : 

Then to the Magistrate com- 
plained, 

That as this woman had been 
dead 180 

A week or more, and no mass 
said, 

It was rank heresy, or at least 

Contempt of Church ; thus said 
the Priest ; 

And straight the cobbler was ar- 
raigned. 

He came, confiding in his cause, 
But rather doubtful of the laws. 
The Justice from his elbow-chair 
Gave him a look that seemed to 

say: 
'Thou standest before a Magis- 
trate, 
Therefore do not prevaricate ! ' igo 
Then asked him in a business 

way, 
Kindly but cold : ' Is thy wife 

dead ? ' 
The cobbler meekly bowed his 

head ; 
' She is,' came struggling from his 

throat 
Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote 
The words down in a book, and 

then 
Continued, as he raised his pen ; 
1 She is ; and hath a mass been 

said 
For the salvation of her soul? 
Come, speak the truth! confess 

the whole ! ' 200 



The Cobbler without pause re- 
plied : 
1 Of mass or prayer there was no 

need ; 
For at the moment when she died 
Her soul was with the glorified ! ' 
And from his pocket with all 

speed 
He drew the priestly title-deed, 
And prayed the Justice he would 
read. 

The Justice read, amused, amazed ; 

And as he read his mirth in- 
creased ; 

At times his shaggy brows he 
raised, 210 

Now wondering at the cobbler 
gazed, 

Now archly at the angry Priest. 

' From all excesses, sins, and 
crimes 

Tbou hast committed in past 
times 

Thee I absolve! And further- 
more, 

Purified from all earthly taints, 

To the communion of the Saints 

And to the sacraments restore ! 

All stains of weakness, and all 
trace 

Of shame and censure I efface ; 

Kemit the pains thou shouldst en- 
dure, 221 

And make thee innocent and pure, 

So that in dying, unto thee 

The gates of heaven shall open 
be! 

Though long thou livest, yet this 
grace 

Until the moment of thy death 

Unchangeable continueth ! ' 

Then said he to the Priest : ' I find 
This document is duly signed 
Brother John Tetzel, his own 
hand. 230 

At all tribunals in the land 
In evidence it may be used ; 
Therefore acquitted is the ac- 
cused.' 



3 2 4 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Then to the cobbler turned : ' My 
friend, 

Pray tell me, didst thou ever read 

Eeynard the Fox?' — 'Oh yes, in- 
deed ! ' — 

'I thought so. Don't forget the 
end.' 

• INTERLUDE 

'What was the end? I am 

ashamed 
Not to remember Reynard's fate ; 
I have not read the book of late ; 
Was he not hanged ? ' the Poet 

said. 
The Student gravely shook his 

head, 
And answered : ' You exaggerate. 
There was a tournament pro- 
claimed, 
And Reynard fought with Isegrim 
The Wolf, and having vanquished 

him, 
Rose to high honor in the State, 
And Keeper of the Seals was 

named ! ' 
At this the gay Sicilian laughed : 
' Fight Are with fire, and craft with 

craft ; 
Successful cunning seems to be 
The moral of your tale,' said he. 
' Mine had a better, and the Jew's 
Had none at all, that I could see ; 
His aim was only to amuse.' 

Meanwhile from out its ebon case 
His violin the Minstrel drew, 
And having tuned its strings anew, 
Now held it close in his embrace, 
And poising in his outstretched 

hand 
The bow, like a magician's wand, 
He paused, and said, with beam- 
ing face : 
'Last night my story was too 

long; 
To-day I give you but a song, 
An old tradition of the North ; 
But first, to put you in the mood, 
I will a little while prelude, 



And from this instrument draw 

forth 
Something by way of overture.' 

He played ; at first the tones were 

pure 
And tender as a summer night, 
The full moon climbing to her 

height, 
The sob and ripple of the seas, 
The flapping of an idle sail ; 
And then by sudden and sharp de^ 

grees 
The multiplied, wild harmonies 
Freshened and burst into a gale ; 
A tempest howling through the 

dark, 
A crash as of some shipwrecked 

bark, 
A loud and melancholy wail. 

Such was the prelude to the tale 
Told by the Minstrel; and at 

times 
He paused amid its varying 

rhymes, 
And at each pause again broke in 
The music of his violin, 
With tones of sweetness or of fear, 
Movements of trouble or of calm, 
Creating their own atmosphere ; 
As sitting in a church we hear 
Between the verses of the psalm 
The organ playing soft and clear, 
Or thundering on the startled ear. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 

THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAST 



At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 

Within the sandy bar, 
At sunset of a summer's day, 
Ready for sea, at anchor lay 

The good ship Valdemar. 

The sunbeams danced upon the 
waves, 
And played along her side ; 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



325 



And through the cabin windows 

streamed 
In ripples of golden light, that 

seemed 
The ripple of the tide. 10 

There sat the captain with his 
friends, 
Old skippers brown and hale, 
Who smoked and grumbled o'er 

their grog, 
And talked of iceberg and of fog, 
Of calm and storm and gale. 

And one was spinning a sailor's 
yarn 

About Klaboterman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a spright 
Invisible to mortal sight, 

Who o'er the rigging ran. 20 

Sometimes he hammered in the 
hold, 
Sometimes upon the mast, 
Sometimes abeam, sometimes 

abaft, 
Or at the bows he sang and 
laughed, 
And made all tight and fast. 

He helped the sailors at their 
work, 
And toiled with jovial din ; 
He helped them hoist and reef the 

sails, 
He helped them stow the casks 
and bales, 
And heave the anchor in. 30 

But woe unto the lazy louts, 

The idlers of the crew ; 
Them to torment was his delight, 
And worry them by day and night, 

And pinch them black and blue. 

And woe to him whose mortal eyes 

Klaboterman behold. 
It is a certain sign of death ! — 
The cabin - boy here held his 
breath, 

He felt his blood run cold. 40 



11 
The jolly skipper paused awhile, 

And then again began ; 
'There is a Spectre Ship,' quoth 

he, 
' A ship of the Dead that sails the 
sea, 
And is called the Carmilhan. 

'A ghostly ship, with a ghostly 
crew, 
In tempests she appears ; 
And before the gale, or against 

the gale, 
She sails without a rag of sail, 
Without a helmsman steers. 50 

'She haunts the Atlantic north 
and south, 
But mostly the mid-sea, 
Where three great rocks rise bleak 

and bare 
Like furnace chimneys in the air, 
And are called the Chimneys 
Three. 

'And ill betide the luckless ship 

That meets the Carmilhan ; 
Over her decks the seas will leap, 
She must go down into the deep, 
And perish mouse and man.' 60 

The captain of the Valdemar 

Laughed loud with merry heart. 
' I should like to see this ship,' 

said he ; 
' I should like to find these Chim- 
neys Three 
That are marked down in the 
chart. 

4 1 have sailed right over the spot,' 
he said, 
'With a good stiff breeze be- 
hind, 
When the sea was blue, and the 

sky was clear, — 
You can follow my course by these 
pinholes here, — 
And never a rock could find.' 70 



326 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And then he swore a dreadful 


To see his image in the tide 


oath, 


Dismembered float from side to 


He swore by the Kingdoms 


side, 


Three, 


And reunite again. 


That, should he meet the Carmil- 




han, 


'It is the wind,' those skippers 


He would run her down, although 


said, 


he ran 


' That swings the vessel so ; 


Eight into Eternity ! 


It is the wind ; it freshens fast, 




'T is time to say farewell at last, 


All this, while passing to and 
fro, 
The cabin-hoy had heard ; 


'T is time for us to go.' no 


They shook the captain by the 


He, lingered at the door to hear, 


hand, 


And drank in all with greedy ear, 


' Good luck ! good luck ! ' they 


And pondered every word. 80 


cried ; 




Each face was like the setting sun, 


He was a simple country lad, 


As, broad and red, they one by one 


But of a roving mind. 


Went o'er the vessel's side. 


' Oh, it must be like heaven,' 




thought he, 


The sun went down, the full moon 


' Those far-off foreign lands to see, 


rose, 


And fortune seek and find ! ' 


Serene o'er field and flood ; 




And all the winding creeks and 


But in the fo'castle, when he heard 


bays 


The mariners blaspheme, 


And broad sea-meadows seemed 


He thought of home, he thought of 


ablaze, 


God, 


The sky was red as blood. 120 


And his mother under the church- 




yard sod, 


The southwest wind blew fresh 


And wished it were a dream, go 


and fair, 




As fair as wind could be ; 


One friend on board that ship had 


Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 


he; 


With all sail set, the Valdemar 


'T was the Klaboterman, 


Went proudly out to sea. 


Who saw the Bible in his chest, 




And made a sign upon his breast, 


The lovely moon climbs up the sky 


All evil things to ban. 


As one who walks in dreams ; 




A tower of marble in her light, 


in 


A wall of black, a wall of white, 




The stately vessel seems. 13a 


The cabin windows have grown 




blank 


Low down upon the sandy coast 


As eyeballs of the dead ; 


The lights begin to burn ; 


No more the glancing sunbeams 


And now, uplifted high in air, 


burn 


They kindle with a fiercer glare, 


On the gilt letters of the stern, 


And now drop far astern. 


But on the figure-head ; 100 






The dawn appears, the land is 


On Valdemar Victorious, 


gone, 


Who looketh with disdain 


The sea is all around ; 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



327 



Then on each hand low hills of 

sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 
She steereth through the Sound. 

Through Kattegat and Skager- 
rack 141 
She flitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and 

day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way 
Along the English coast. 

Cape Finisterre is drawing near, 

Cape Finisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 

,Too beautiful to last. 150 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Burn brighter now the moon is 
dead, 
And longer stays the night. 

IV 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black as with forests underneath, 
Above, their sharp and jagged 
teeth 
"Were white as drifted snows. 160 

Unseen behind them sank the 
sun, 

But flushed each snowy peak 
A little while with rosy light, 
That faded slowly from the sight 

As blushes from the cheek. 

Black grew the sky, — all black, 
all black ; 

The clouds were everywhere ; 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 

Of terror in the air. 170 

And all on board the Valdemar 
Was still as still could be ; 



Save when the dismal ship-bell 

tolled, 
As ever and anon she rolled, 
And lurched into the sea. 

The captain up and down the deck 
Went striding to and fro ; 

Now watched the compass at the 
wheel, 

Now lifted up his hand to feel i 79 
Which way the wind might blow. 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the deep ; 
In every fibre of his frame 
He felt the storm before it came, 
He had no thought of sleep. 

Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft, 
With a great rush of rain, 

Making the ocean white with 
spume, 

In darkness like the day of doom, 
On came the hurricane. 190 

The lightning flashed from cloud 
to cloud, 
And rent the sky in two ; 
A jagged flame, a single jet 
Of white fire, like a bayonet, 
That .pierced the eyeballs 
through. 

Then all around was dark again, 

And blacker than before ; 
But in that single flash of light 
He had beheld a fearful sight, 
And thought of the oath he 
swore. 200 

For right ahead lay the Ship of the 
Dead, 
The ghostly Carmilhan ! 
Her masts were stripped, her 

yards were bare, 
And on her bowsprit, poised in air, 
Sat the Klaboterman. 

Her crew of ghosts was all on 
deck 
Or clambering up the shrouds ; , 



328 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The boatswain's whistle, the cap- 
tain's hail 
Were like the piping of the gale, 
And thunder in the clouds. 210 

And close behind the Carmilhan 

There rose up from the sea, 
As from a foundered ship of stone, 
Three bare and splintered masts 
alone : 
They were the Chimneys Three. 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A little shudder, and she had 
passed 
Right through the Phantom 
Bark. 220 

She cleft in twain the shadowy 
hulk, 

But cleft it unaware ; 
As when, careering to her nest, 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 

The unresisting air. 

Again the lightning flashed ; again 
They saw the Carmilhan, 

Whole as before in hull and spar ; 

But now on board of the Valdemar 
Stood the Klaboterman. 230 

And they all knew their doom was 
sealed ; 
They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed 

before, 
And some they wept, and some 
they swore, 
And some were mute with fear. 

Then suddenly there came a shock, 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck, 
As she dashed and crashed, a hope- 
less wreck, 
Upon the Chimneys Three. 240 

The storm and night were passed, 
the light 
To streak the east began ; 



The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, 
Survived the wreck, and only he, 
To tell of the Carmilhan. 



INTERLUDE 

When the long murmur of ap- 
plause 
That greeted the Musician's lay 
Had slowly buzzed itself away, 
And the long talk of Spectre Ships 
That followed died upon their lips 
And came unto a natural pause, 
' These tales you tell are one and 

all 
Of the Old World,' the Poet said, 
'Flowers gathered from a crum- 
bling wall, 
Dead leaves that rustle as they 

fall; 
Let me present you in their stead 
Something of our New England 

earth, 
A tale, which, though of no great 

worth, 
Has still this merit, that it yields 
A certain freshness of the fields, 
A sweetness as of home-made 
bread.' 

The Student answered: 'Be dis- 
creet ; 
For if the flour be fresh and 

sound, 
And if the bread be light and 

sweet, 
Who careth in what mill 't was 

ground, 
Or of what oven felt the heat, 
Unless, as old Cervantes said, 
You are looking after better bread 
Than any that is made of wheat? 
You know that people nowadays 
To what is old give little praise ; 
All must be new in prose and 

verse ; 
They want hot bread, or something 

worse, 
Fresh every morning, and half 

baked ; 



THE POET'S TALE 



329 



The wholesome bread of yester- 
day, 

Too stale for them, is thrown 
away, 

Nor is their thirst with water 
slaked.' 

As oft we see the sky in May 
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, 
The Poet's face, before so gay, 
Was clouded with a look of pain, 
But suddenly brightened up again ; 
And without further let or stay 
He told his tale of yesterday. 



THE POET'S TALE 

LADY WENTWOKTH 

One hundred years ago, and some- 
thing more, 

In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at 
her tavern door, 

Neat as a pin, and blooming as a 
rose, 

Stood Mistress Stavers in her fur- 
belows, 

Just as her cuckoo-clock was strik- 
ing nine. 

Above her head, resplendent on 
the sign, 

The portrait of the Earl of Hali- 
fax, 

In scarlet coat and periwig of flax, 

Surveyed at leisure all her varied 
charms, 

Her cap, her bodice, her white 
folded arms, 10 

And half resolved, though he was 
past his prime, 

And rather damaged by the lapse 
of time, 

To fall down at her feet, and to 
declare 

The passion that had driven him 
to despair. 

For from his lofty station he had 
seen 

Stavers, her husband, dressed in 
bottle-green, 



Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, 

four in hand, 
Down the long lane, and out into 

the land, 
And knew that he was far upon 

the way 
To Ipswich and to Boston on the 

Bay ! 20 

Just then the meditations of the 

Earl 
Were interrupted by a little girl, 
Barefooted, ragged, with neglected 

hair, 
Eyes full of laughter, neck and 

shoulders bare, 
A thin slip of a girl, like a new 

moon, 
Sure to be rounded into beauty 

soon, 
A creature men would worship 

and adore, 
Though now in mean habiliments 

she bore 
A pail of water, dripping thro -jgh 

the street, 
And bathing, as she went, her 

naked feet. 30 

It was a pretty picture, full of 

grace,— 
The slender form, the delicate, 

thin face ; 
The swaying motion, as she hur 

ried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in 

her eye, 
That o'er her face in ripples 

gleamed and glanced, 
As in her pail the shifting sunbeam 

danced : 
And with uncommon feelings of 

delight 
The Earl of Halifax beheld the 

sight. 
Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard 

her say 
These words, or thought he did, as 

plain as day : 40 

' O Martha Hilton ! Fie ! how dare 

you go 



330 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



About the town half dressed, and 

looking so ! ' 
At which the gypsy laughed, and 

straight replied : 
'No matter how I look; I yet 

shall ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am.' And 

on the child 
The Earl of Halifax benignly 

smiled, 
As with her heavy burden she 

passed on, 
Looked back, then turned the 

corner, and was gone. 

What next, upon that memorable 
day, 

Arrested his attention was a 
gay 50 

And brilliant equipage, that flashed 
and spun, 

The silver harness glittering in the 
sun, 

Outriders with red jackets, lithe 
and lank, 

Pounding the saddles as they rose 
and sank, 

"While all alone within the chariot 
sat 

A portly person with three-cor- 
nered hat, 

A crimson velvet coat, head high 
in air, 

Gold-headed cane, and nicely pow- 
dered hair, 

And diamond buckles sparkling 
at his knees, 

Dignified, stately, florid, much at 
ease. 60 

Onward the pageant swept, and as 
it passed, 

Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied 
low and fast ; 

For this was Governor Wentworth, 
driving down 

To Little Harbor, just beyond the 
town, 

Where his Great House stood look- 
ing out to sea, 

A goodly place, where it was good 
to be. 



It was a pleasant mansion, an 
abode 

Near and yet hidden from the 
great high-road, 

Sequestered among trees, a noble 
pile, 69 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 

Gables and dormer-windows every- 
where, 

And stacks of chimneys rising high 
in air, — 

Pandsean pipes, on which all winds 
that blew 

Made mournful music the whole 
winter through. 

Within, unwonted splendors met 
the eye, 

Panels, and floors of oak, and tap- 
estry ; 

Carved chimney-pieces, wbere on 
brazen dogs 

Revelled and roared the Christmas 
fires of logs ; 

Doors opening into darkness un- 
awares, 

Mysterious passages, and flights 
of stairs ; 80 

And on the walls, in heavy gilded 
frames, 

The ancestral Wentworths with 
Old-Scripture names. 

Such was the mansion where the 
great man dwelt, 

A widower and childless; and he 
felt 

The loneliness, the uncongenial 
gloom, 

That like a presence haunted every 
room ; 

For though not given to weakness, 
he could feel 

The pain of wounds, that ache be- 
cause they heal. 

The years came and the years 
went, — seven in all, 

And passed in cloud and sunshine 
o'er the Hall ; 90 

The dawns their splendor through 
its chambers shed. 



THE POET'S TALE 



331 



The sunsets flushed its western 

windows red ; 
The snow was on the roofs, the 

wind, the rain ; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and 

bare again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs 

bloomed and died, 
In the broad river ebbed and 

flowed the tide, 
Ships went to sea, and ships came 

home from sea, 
Aud the slow years sailed by and 

ceased to be. 



And all these years had Martha 

Hilton served 
In the Great House, not wholly 

unobserved : 100 

By day, by night, the silver cres- 
cent grew, 
Though hidden by clouds, her light 

still shining through ; 
A maid of all work, whether coarse 

or fine, 
A servant who made service seem 

divine ! 
Through her each room was fair to 

look upon ; 
The mirrors glistened, and the 

brasses shone, 
The very knocker on the outer 

door, 
If she but passed, was brighter 

than before. 



And now the ceaseless turning of 

the mill 
Of time, that never for an hour 

stands still, no 

Ground out the Governor's six- 
tieth birthday, 
And powdered his brown hair with 

silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the 

spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund 

carolling, 
The restless swallows building in 

the eaves, 



The golden buttercups, the grass, 

the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of 

May, 
All welcomed this majestic holi- 
day ! 
He gave a splendid banquet, served 

on plate, 
Such as became the Governor of 

the State, 120 

Who represented England and the 

King, 
And was magnificent in every- 
thing. 
He had invited all his friends and 

peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and 

the Lears, 
The Sparhawks, the Penhallows, 

and the rest ; 
For why repeat the name of every 

guest? 
But I must mention one in bands 

and gown, 
The rector there, the Keverend 

Arthur Brown 
Of the Established Church; with 

smiling face 
He sat beside the Governor and 

said grace ; 130 

And then the feast went on, as 

others do, 
But ended as none other I e'er 

knew. 

"When they had drunk the King, 
with many a cheer, 

The Governor whispered in a ser- 
vant's ear, 

Who disappeared, and presently 
there stood 

Within the room, in perfect wo- 
manhood, 

A maiden, modest and yet self- 
possessed, 

Youthful and beautiful, and sim- 
ply dressed. 

Can this be Martha Hilton? It 
must be ! 

Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other 
she t 140 



332 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Dowered with the beauty of her 

twenty years, 
How ladylike, how queenlike she 

appears ; 
The pale, thin crescent of the days 

gone by 
Is Dian now in all her majesty-! 
Yet scarce a guest perceived that 

she was there, 
Until the Governor, rising from 

his chair, 
Played slightly with his ruffles, 

then looked down, 
And said unto the Eeverend Ar- 
thur Brown : 
' This is my birthday : it shall 

likewise be 
My wedding-day; and you shall 

marry me ! ' 150 

The listening guests were greatly 

mystified, 
None more so than the rector, who 

replied : 
' Marry you? Yes, that were a 

pleasant task, 
Your Excellency; but to whom? 

I ask.' 
The Governor answered : ' To 

this lady here ; ' 
And beckoned Martha Hilton to 

draw near. 
She came and stood, all blushes, 

at his side. 
The rector paused. The impa- 
tient Governor cried : 
' This is the lady ; do you hesitate? 
Then I command you as Chief 

Magistrate.' 160 

The rector read the service loud 

and clear : 
6 Dearly beloved, we are gathered 

here,' 
And so on to the end. At his com- 
mand 
On the fourth finger of her fair left 

hand 
The Governor placed the ring; 

and that was all: 
Martha was Lady Wentworth of 

the Hall! 



INTEELUDE 

Well pleased the audience heard 

the tale. 
The Theologian said : ' Indeed, 
To praise you there is little need ; 
One almost hears the farmer's flail 
Thresh out your wheat, nor does 

there fail 
A certain freshness, as you said, 
And sweetness as of home-made 

bread. 
But not less sweet and not less fresh 
Are many legends that I know, 
Writ by the monks of long-ago, 
Who loved to mortify the flesh, 
So that the soul might purer grow, 
And rise to a diviner state ; 
And one of these — perhaps of all 
Most beautiful — I now recall, 
And with permission will narrate ; 
Hoping thereby to make amends 
For that grim tragedy of mine, 
As strong and black as Spanish 

wine, 
I told last night, and wish almost 
It had remained untold, my friends; 
For Torquemada's awful ghost 
Came to me in the dreams I 

dreamed, 
And in the darkness glared and 

gleamed 
Like a great lighthouse on the 

coast.' 

The Student laughing said: 'Far 

more 
Like to some dismal fire of bale 
Flaring portentous on a hill ; 
Or torches lighted on a shore 
By wreckers in a midnight gale. 
No matter ; be it as you will, 
Only go forward with your tale.' 

[THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE \ 

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

' Hadst thou stayed, I must have 

fled!' 
That is what the Vision said. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 



333 



In his chamber all alone, 
Kneeling on the floor of stone, 
Prayed the Monk in deep contri- 
tion 
For his sins of indecision, 
Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial ; 
It was noonday by the dial, 
And the Monk was all alone. xo 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 
An unwonted splendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about 

Him, 
Like a garment round Him 

thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 
Not in agonies of pain, 20 

Not with bleeding hands and feet, 
Did the Monk his Master see ; 
But as in the village street, 
In the house or harvest-field, 
Halt and lame and blind He healed, 
When He walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring, 
Hands upon his bosom crossed, 
Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 30 
Lord, he thought, in heaven that 

reignest, 
Who am I, that thus thou deignest 
To reveal thyself to me ? 
Who am I, that from the centre 
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 
This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation, 
Loud the convent bell appalling, 
From its belfry calling, calling, 
Rang through court and corri- 
dor 40 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 
It was now the appointed hour 
When alike in shine or shower, 



Winter's cold or summer's heat, 
To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame, 
All the beggars of the street, 
For their daily dole of food 
Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 50 
And their almoner was he 
Who upon his bended knee, 
Eapt in silent ecstasy 
Of divinest self-surrender, 
Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 
Deep distress and hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go or should he stay ? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 60 
Till the Vision passed away ? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
Slight this visitant celestial, 
For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 
Would the Vision there remain ? 
Would the Vision come again ? 
Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear 
As if to the outward ear : 70 

'Do thy duty ; that is best ; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! ' 

Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed, 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 
Looking through the iron grating, 
With that terror in the eye 80 

That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close, 
And of feet that pass them by ; 
Grown familiar with disfavor, 
Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die ! 
But to-day, they know not why, 
Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise, 90 
Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and 
wine. 



334 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Iu his heart the Monk was pray- 
ing, 
Thinking of the homeless poor, 
What they suffer and endure ; 
What we see not, what we see ; 
And the inward voice was saying : 
'' Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest, 
That thou doest unto me ! ' ioo 

Unto me ! hut had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
Would he then have knelt adoring, 
Or have listened with derision, 
And have turned away with loath- 
ing? 

Thus his conscience put the ques- 
tion, 
Full of troublesome suggestion, 
As at length, with hurried pace, 
Towards his cell he turned his 
face, no 

And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light, 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck 

feeling 
At the threshold of his door, 
For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before, 
When the convent bell appalling, 
From its belfry calling, calling, 120 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 
It had waited his return, 
And he felt his bosom burn, 
Comprehending all the meaning, 
When the Blessed Vision said, 
' Hadst thou stayed, I must have 

fled!' 

INTEKLUDE 

All praised the Legend more or 

less; 
Some liked the moral, some the 

verse ; 



Some thought it better, and some 

worse 
Than other legends of the past ; 
Until, with ill-concealed distress 
At all their cavilling, at last 
The Theologian gravely said : 
'The Spanish proverb, then, is 

right ; 
Consult your friends on what you 

do, 
And one will say that it is white, 
And others say that it is red.' 
And ' Amen ! ' quoth the Spanish 

Jew. 

' Six stories told ! We must have 

seven, 
A cluster like the Pleiades, 
And lo ! it happens, as with these, 
That one is missing from our hea- 
ven. 
Where is the Landlord ? Bring 

him here ; 
Let the Lost Pleiad reappear.' 

Thus the Sicilian cried, and went 
Forthwith to seek his missing star, 
But did not find him in the bar, 
A place that landlords most fre- 
quent, 
Nor yet beside the kitchen fire, 
Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall ; 
It was in vain to ask or call, 
There were no tidings of the Squire. 

So he came back with downcast 

head, 
Exclaiming: 'Well, our bashful 

host 
Hath surely given up the ghost, 
Another proverb says the dead 
Can tell no tales ; and that is true. 
It follows, then, that one of you 
Must tell a story in his stead. 
You must,' he to the Student said, 
' Who know so many of the best, 
And tell them better than the rest.' 

Straight, by these flattering words 

beguiled, 
The Student, happy as a child 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 



335 



When he is called a little man, 
Assumed the double task imposed. 
And without more ado unclosed 
His smiling lips, and thus began. 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND 
TALE 

THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE 

Baron Castine of St. Castine 

Has left his chateau in the Pyre- 
nees, 

And sailed across the western 
seas. 

When he went away from his fair 
demesne 

The birds were building, the woods 
were green ; 

And now the winds of winter blow 

Round the turrets of the old cha- 
teau, 

The birds are silent and unseen, 

The leaves lie dead in the ra- 
vine, 

And the Pyrenees are white with 
snow. 10 

His father, lonely, old, and gray, 
Sits by the fireside day by day, 
Thinking ever one thought of care : 
Through the southern windows, 

narrow and tall, 
The sun shines into the ancient 

hall, 
And makes a glory round his hair. 
The house-dog, stretched beneath 

his chair, 
Groans in his sleep, as if in pain, 
Then wakes, and yawns, and sleeps 

again, 
So silent is it everywhere, — 20 
So silent you can hear the mouse 
Run and rummage along the beams 
Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 
And the old man rouses from his 

dreams, 
And wanders restless through the 

house, 
&s if he heard strange voices calL 



His footsteps echo along the floor 
Of a distant passage, and pause 

awhile ; 
He is standing by an open door 
Looking long, with a sad, sweet 

smile, 30 

Into the room of his absent son. 
There is the bed on which he lay, 
There are the pictures bright and 

gay, 
Horses and hounds and sun-lit 

seas; 
There are his powder-flask and 

gmi, 
And his hunting-knives in shape 

of a fan ; 
The chair by the window where he 

sat, 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a 

mat, 
Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
Looking out on Mount Marbore 40 
And the Seven Valleys of Lave- 

dan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 
Wind or rain or starry heaven, 
Just as the clock is striking seven, 
Those who look from the windows 

see 
The village Curate, with lantern 

and maid, 
Come through the gateway from 

the park 
And cross the courtyard damp and 

dark, — 50 

A ring of light in a ring of shade. 

And now at the old man's side he 
stands, 

His voice is cheery, his heart ex- 
pands, 

He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 

Of the fire of fagots, about old 
days, 

And Cardinal Mazarin and the 
Fronde, 

And the Cardinal's nieces fair and 
fond, 



336 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And what they did, and what they 

said, 
When they heard his Eminence 

was dead. 

And after a pause the old man 

says, 60 

His mind still coming back again 
To the one sad thought that haunts 

his brain, 
* Are there any tidings from over 

sea? 
Ah, why has that wild boy gone 

from me ? ' 
And the Curate answers, looking 

down, 
Harmless and docile as a lamb, 
' Young blood ! young blood ! It 

must so be ! ' 
And draws from the pocket of his 

gown 
A handkerchief like an oriflamb, 
And wipes his spectacles, and they 

play 70 

Their little game of lansquenet 
In silence for an hour or so, 
Till the clock at nine strikes loud 

and clear 
From the village lying asleep be- 
low, 
And across the courtyard, into the 

dark 
Of the winding pathway in the 

park, 
Curate and lantern disappear, 
And darkness reigns in the old 

chateau. 

The ship has come back from over 

sea, 
She has been signalled from be- 
low, 80 
And into the harbor of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant com- 
pany. 
But among them is nowhere seen 
The brave young Baron of St. Cas- 

tine ; 
He hath tarried behind, I ween, 
In the beautiful land of Acadie ! 



And the father paces to and fro 
Through the chambers of the old 

chateau, 
Waiting, waiting to hear the hum 
Of wheels on the road that runs 

below, go 

Of servants hurrying here and 

there, 
The voice in the courtyard, the 

step on the stair, 
Waiting for some one who doth 

not come ! 
But letters there are, which the 

old man reads 
To the Curate, when he comes at 

night, 
Word by word, as an acolyte 
Eepeats his prayers and tells his 

beads ; 
Letters full of the rolling sea, 
Full of a young man's joy to be 
Abroad in the world, alone and 

free ; 100 

Full of adventures and wonderful 

scenes 
Of hunting the deer through for- 
ests vast 
In the royal grant of Pierre du 

Gast; 
Of nights in the tents of the Tarra- 

tines ; 
Of Madocawando the Indian chief, 
And his daughters, glorious as 

queens, 
And beautiful beyond belief ; 
And so soft the tones of their 

native tongue, 
The words are not spoken, they 

are sung ! 

And the Curate listens, and smil- 
ing says: no 

' Ah yes, dear friend ! in our young 
days 

We should have liked to hunt the 
deer 

All day amid those forest scenes, 

And to sleep in the tents of the 
Tarratines ; 

But now it is better sitting here 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE 



337 



Within four walls, and without the 

fear 
Of losing our hearts to Indian 

queens ; 
For man is Are and woman is tow, 
And the Somebody comes and be- 
gins to blow.' 
Then a gleam of distrust and vague 
surmise 120 

Shines in the father's gentle eyes, 
As fire-light on a window-pane 
Glimmers and vanishes again : 
But naught he answers; he only 

sighs, 
And for a moment bows his head ; 
Then, as their custom is, they play 
Their little game of lansquenet, 
And another day is with the dead. 

Another day, and many a day 
And many a week and month de- 
part, 130 
When a fatal letter wings its way 
Across the sea, like a bird of prey, 
And strikes and tears the old man's 

heart. 
Lo! the young Baron of St. Cas- 

tine, 
Swift as the wind is, and as wild, 
Has married a dusky Tarratine, 
Has married Madocawando's 
child ! 

The letter drops from the father's 

hand; 
Though the sinews of his heart 

are wrung, 
He utters no cry, he breathes no 

prayer, 140 

No malediction falls from his 

tongue ; 
But his stately figure, erect and 

grand, 
Bends and sinks like a column of 

sand 
In the whirlwind of his great de- 
spair. 
Dying, yes, dying! His latest 

breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 



Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 
No longer he waits for any one. 150 

For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 
Bank grasses in the courtyard 

grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 
The coming of the rightful heir ; 
No other life or sound is there ; 
No more the Curate comes at night, 
No more is seen the unsteady 

light, 160 

Threading the alleys of the park ; 
The windows of the hall are dark, 
The chambers dreary, cold, and 

bare ! 

At length, at last, when the winter 

is past, 
And birds are building, and woods 

are green, 
With flying skirts is the Curate 

seen 
Speeding along the woodland way, 
Humming gayly, ' No day is so 

long 
But it comes at last to vesper-song.' 
He stops at the porter's lodge to 

say 170 

That at last the Baron of St. Cas- 

tine 
Is coming home with his Indian 

queen, 
Is coming without a week's delay ; 
And all the house must be swept 

and clean, 
And all things set in good array ! 
And the solemn porter shakes his 

head ; 
And the answer he makes is : 

' Lackaday ! 
We will see, as the blind man 

said ! ' 

Alert since first the day began, 
The cock upon the village 
church 180 



33» 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Looks northward from his airy 

perch, 
As if beyond the ken of man 
To see the ships come sailing on, 
And pass the Isle of 016ron, 
And pass the Tower of Cordouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 
The heart that would have leaped 

for joy — 
O tender heart of truth and 

trust ! — 
To see the coming of that day ; 
In the church below the lips are 

dust; 190 

Dust are the hands, and dust the 

feet 
That would have been so swift to 

meet 
The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old cha- 
teau 

Is a blaze of light above and be- 
low; 

There's a sound of wheels and 
hoofs in the street, 

A cracking of whips, and scamper 
of feet, 

Bells are ringing, and horns are 
blown, 

And the Baron hath come again to 
his own. 

The Curate is waiting in the 
hall, 200 

Most eager and alive of all 

To welcome the Baron and Baron- 
ess; 

But his mind is full of vague dis- 
tress, 

For he hath read in Jesuit books 

Of those children of the wilder- 
ness, 

And now, good, simple man ! he 
looks 

To see a painted savage stride 

Into the room, with shoulders 
bare, 

And eagle feathers in her hair, 

And around her a robe of panther's 
hide. 210 



Instead, he beholds with secret 

shame 
A form of beauty undefined, 
A loveliness without a name, 
Not of degree, but more of kind ; 
Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor 

tall, 
But a new mingling of them all. 
Yes, beautiful beyond belief, 
Transfigured and transfused, he 

sees 
The lady of the Pyrenees, 
The daughter of the Indian 

chief. 220 

Beneath the shadow of her hair 
The gold-bronze color of the skin 
Seems lighted by a fire within, 
As when a burst of sunlight shines 
Beneath a sombre grove of 

pines, — 
A dusky splendor in the air. 
The two small hands, that now 

are pressed 
In his, seem made to be caressed, 
They lie so warm and soft and 

still, 
Like birds half hidden in a 

nest, 230 

Trustful, and innocent of ill. 
And ah! he cannot believe his 

ears 
When her melodious voice he hears 
Speaking his native Gascon 

tongue ; 
The words she utters seem to be 
Part of some poem of Goudouli, 
They are not spoken, they are 

sung ! 
And the Baron smiles, and says, 

' You see, 
I told you but the simple truth ; 
Ah, you may trust the eyes of 

youth ! ' 240 

Down in the village day by day 
The people gossip in their way, 
And stare to see the Baroness 

pass 
On Sunday morning to early mass; 
And when she kneeleth down to 

pray. 



FINALE 



339 



They wonder, and whisper to- 
gether, and say 

'Surely this is no heathen lass ! ' 

And in course of time they learn to 
hless 

The Baron and the Baroness. 

And in course of time the Curate 

learns 250 

A secret so dreadful, that hy turns 
He is ice and fire, he freezes and 

burns. 
The Baron at confession hath said, 
That though this woman be his 

wife, 
He hath wed her as the Indians 

wed, 
, He hath bought her for a gun and 

a knife ! 
And the Curate replies : ' O pro- 
fligate, 
O Prodigal Son ! return once more 
To the open arms and the open 

door 
Of the Church, or ever it be too 

late. 260 

Thank God, thy father did not 

live 
To see what he could not forgive ; 
On thee, so reckless and perverse, 
He left his blessing, not his curse. 
But the nearer the dawn the 

darker the night, 
And by going wrong all things 

come right ; 
Things have been mended that 

were worse, 
And the worse, the nearer they 

are to mend. 
For the sake of the living and the 

dead, 
Thou shalt be wed as Christians 

wed, 270 

And all things come to a happy 

end.' 

O sun, that followest the night, 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure, 
And pourest thine impartial light 
Alike on mountain and on moor, 
Pause for a moment in thy course, 



And bless the bridegroom and the 

bride ! * 

O Gave, that from thy hidden 

source 
In yon mysterious mountain-side 
Pursuest thy wandering way 

alone, 2S0 

And leaping down its steps of 

stone, 
Along the meadow-lands demure 
Stealest away to the Aclour, 
Pause for a moment in thy course 
To bless the bridegroom and the 

bride ! 

The choir is singing the matin 

song, 
The doors of the church are 

opened wide, 
The people crowd, and press, and 

throng 
To see the bridegroom and the 

bride. 
They enter and pass along the 

nave ; 290 

They stand upon the father's 

grave ; 
The bells are ringing soft and 

slow ; 
The living above and the dead be- 
low 
Give their blessing on one and 

twain ; 
The warm wind blows from the 

hills of Spain, 
The birds are building, the leaves 

are green, 
And Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Hath come at last to his own again, 



FINALE 

' Nunc plaudite!" 1 the student 

cried, 
When he had finished ; ' now ap- 
plaud, 
As Koman actors used to say 
At the conclusion of a play : ' 
And rose, and spread his hands 
abroad, 



340 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And smiling bowed from side to 

side, 
As one who bears the palm away. 

And generous was the applause 

and loud, 
But less for him than for the sun, 
That even as the tale was done 
Burst from its canopy of cloud, 
And lit the landscape with the 

blaze 
Of afternoon on autumn days, 
And filled the room with light, and 

made 
The fire of logs a painted shade. 

A sudden wind from out the west 
Blew all its trumpets loud and 

shrill ; 
The windows rattled with the 

blast, 
The oak-trees shouted as it 

passed, 
And straight, as if by fear pos- 
sessed, 
The cloud encampment on the hill 
Broke up, and fluttering flag and 

tent 
Vanished into the firmament, 
And down the valley fled amain 
The rear of the retreating rain. 

Only far up in the blue sky 

A mass of clouds, like drifted 

snow 
Suffused with a faint Alpine glow, 
"Was heaped together, vast and 

high, 
On which a shattered rainbow 

hung, 
Not rising like the ruined arch 
Of some aerial aqueduct, 
But like a roseate garland plucked 
From an Olympian god, and flung 
Aside in his triumphal march. 

Like prisoners from their dungeon 

gloom, 
Like birds escaping from a snare, 
Like school-boys at the hour of 

play, 



All left at once the pent-up room, 
And rushed into the open air ; 
And no more tales were told that 
day. 



PART THIRD 
PRELUDE 

The evening came; the golden 
vane 

A moment in the sunset glanced, 

Then darkened, and then gleamed 
again, 

As from the east the moon ad- 
vanced 

And touched it with a softer light ; 

While underneath, with flowing 
mane, 

Upon the sign the Red Horse 
pranced, 

And galloped forth into the night. 

But brighter than the afternoon 
That followed the dark day of 

rain, 10 

And brighter than the golden 

vane 
That glistened in the rising moon, 
Within, the ruddy fire - light 

gleamed ; 
And every separate window-pane, 
Backed by the outer darkness, 

showed 
A mirror, where the flamelets 

gleamed 
And flickered to and fro, and 

seemed 
A bonfire lighted in the road. 

Amid the hospitable glow, 
Like an old actor on the stage, 26 
With the uncertain voice of age, 
The singing chimney chanted low 
The homely songs of long ago. 

The voice that Ossian heard of 

yore, 
When midnight winds were in his 

hall; 



PRELUDE 



34i 



A ghostly and appealing call, 
A sound of days that are no more ! 
And dark as Ossian sat the Jew, 
And listened to the sound, and 

knew, 
The passing of the airy hosts, 30 
The gray and misty cloud of 

ghosts 
In their interminable flight ; 
And listening muttered in his 

beard, 
With accent indistinct and weird, 
'Who are ye, children of the 

Night?' 

Beholding his mysterious face, 
' Tell me,' the gay Sicilian said, 
'Why was it that in breaking 

bread 
At supper, you bent down your 

head 
And, musing, paused a little 

space, 40 

As one who says a silent grace ? ' 

The Jew replied, with solemn air, 
' I said the Manichaean's prayer. 
It was his faith, — perhaps is 

mine,— 
That life in all its forms is one, 
And that its secret conduits run 
Unseen, but in unbroken line, 
From the great fountain-head di- 
vine 
Through man and beast, through 

grain and grass. 
Howe'er we struggle, strive, and 
cry, 5 o 

From death there can be no es- 
cape, 
And no escape from life, alas ! 
Because we cannot die, but pass 
From one into another shape : 
It is but into life we die. 

' Therefore the Manichaean said 
This simple prayer on breaking 

bread, 
Lest he with hasty hand or knife 
Might wound the incarcerated 

life, 



The soul in things that we call 
dead : 60 

" I did not reap thee, did not bind 
thee, 

I did not thrash thee, did not 
grind thee, 

Nor did I in the oven bake thee .' 

It was not I, it was another 

Did these things unto thee, O bro- 
ther ; 

I only have thee, hold thee, break 
thee ! " ' 

' That birds have souls I can con- 
cede,' 
The Poet cried, with glowing 

cheeks ; 
'The flocks that from their beds 

of reed 
Uprising north or southward fly, 
And flying write upon the sky 71 
The biforked letter of the Greeks, 
As hath been said by Rucellai ; 
All birds that sing or chirp or cry, 
Even those migratory bands, 
The minor poets of the air, 
The plover, peep, and sanderling, 
That hardly can be said to sing, 
But pipe along the barren sands, — 
All these have souls akin to ours ; 
So hath the lovely race of flow- 
ers : 81 
Thus much I grant, but nothing 

more. 
The rusty hinges of a dqor 
Are not alive because they creak ; 
This chimney, with its dreary 

roar, 
These rattling windows, do not 

speak ! ' 
' To me they speak,' the Jew re- 
plied ; 
' And in the sounds that sink and 

soar, 
I hear the voices of a tide 
That breaks upon an unknown 
shore .' ' 90 

Here the Sicilian interfered: 
' That was your dream, then, as 
you dozed 



342 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



A moment since, with eyes half- 
closed, 

And murmured something in your 
beard.' 

The Hebrew smiled, and an- 
swered, ' Nay ; 

Not that, but something very 
near; 

Like, and yet not the same, may 
seem 

The vision of my waking dream ; 

Before it wholly dies away, 99 

Listen to me, and you shall hear.' 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE 

AZRAEL 

King Solomon, before his palace 

gate 
At evening, on the pavement tes- 

sellate 
Was walking with a stranger from 

the East, 
Arrayed in rich attire as for a 

feast, 
The mighty Eunjeet - Sing, a 

learned man, 
And Eajah of the realms of Hindo- 

stan. 
And as they walked the guest be- 
came aware 
Of a white figure in the twilight 

air, - 
Gazing intent, as one who with 

surprise 
His form and features seemed to 

recognize ; 10 

And in a whisper to the king he 

said: 
* What is yon shape, that, pallid as 

the dead, 
Is watching me, as if he sought to 

trace 
In the dim light the features of 

my face ? ' 

The king looked, and replied : ' I 

know him well ; 
It is the Angel men call Azrael, 



'T is the Death Angel ; what hast 

thou to fear ? ' 
And the guest answered : 'Lest he 

should come near, 
And speak to me, and take away 

my breath ! 
Save me from Azrael, save me 

from death ! 20 

king, that hast dominion o'er 

the wind, 
Bid it arise and bear me hence to 
Ind.' 

The king gazed upward at the 

cloudless sky, 
Whispered a word, and raised his 

hand on high, 
And lo ! the signet-ring of chryso- 

prase 
On his uplifted finger seemed to 

blaze 
With hidden fire, and rushing from 

the west 
There came a mighty wind, and 

seized the guest 
And lifted him from earth, and on 

they passed, 
His shining garments streaming 

in the blast, N 30 

A silken banner o'er the walls up- 
reared, 
A purple cloud, that gleamed and 

disappeared. 
Then said the Angel, smiling : ' If 

this man 
Be Eajah Eunjeet-Sing of Hindo- 

stan, 
Thou hast done well in listening 

to his prayer ; 

1 was upon my way to seek him 

there.' 

INTEELUDE 

' O Edrehi, forbear to-night 
Your ghostly legends of affright, 
And let the Talmud rest in peace ; 
Spare us your dismal tales of death 
That almost take away one's 

breath ; 
So doing, may your tribe increase. 1 



THE POET'S TALE 



343 



Thus the Sicilian said ; then went 
And on the spinet's rattling keys 
Played Marianina, like a hreeze 
From Naples and the Southern 

seas, 
That brings us the delicious scent 
Of citron and of orange trees, 
And memories of soft days of ease 
At Capri and Amalfi spent. 

'Not so,' the eager Poet said; 
' At least, not so before I tell 
The story of my Azrael, 
An angel mortal as ourselves, 
Which in an ancient tome I found 
Upon a convent's dusty shelves, 
Chained, with an iron chain, and 

bound 
In parchment, and with clasps of 

brass, 
Lest from its prison, some dark 

day, 
It might be stolen or steal away, 
While the good friars were singing 

mass. 

• It is a tale of Charlemagne, 
When like a thunder-cloud, that 

lowers 
And sweeps from mountain-crest 

to coast, 
With lightning flaming through 

its showers, 
He swept across the Lombard 

plain, 
Beleaguering with his warlike train 
Pavia, the country's pride and 

boast, 
The City of the Hundred Towers.' 

Thus heralded the tale began, 
And thus in sober measure ran. 



THE POET'S TALE 

CHARLEMAGNE 

Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 
King of the Lombards, on a lofty 
tower 



Stood gazing northward o'er the 

rolling plains, 
League after league of harvests, 

to the foot 
Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw 

approach 
A mighty army, thronging all the 

roads 
That led into the city. And the King 
Said unto Olger, who had passed 

his youth 
As hostage at the court of France, 

and knew 
The Emperor's form and face : ' Is 

Charlemagne 10 

Among that host?' And Olger 

answered: 'No.' 

And still the innumerable multi- 
tude 

Flowed onward and increased, un- 
til the King 

Cried in amazement : ' Surely 
Charlemagne 

Is coming in the midst of all these 
knights ! ' 

And Olger answered slowly : ' No ; 
not yet ; 

He will not come so soon.' Then 
much disturbed 

King Desiderio asked: 'What 
shall we do, 

If he approach with a still greater 
army?' 

And Olger answered : ' When he 
shall appear, 20 

You will behold what manner of 
man he is ; 

But what will then befall us I 
know not' 

Then came the guard that never 

knew repose, 
The Paladins of France ; and at 

the sight 
The Lombard King o'ercome with 

terror cried : 
' This must be Charlemagne ! ' and 

as before 
Did Olger answer : ' No ; not yet, 

not yet' 



344 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And then appeared in panoply 

complete 
The Bishops and the Abbots and 

the Priests 
Of the imperial chapel, and the 

Counts ; 30 

And Desiderio could no more en- 
dure 
The light of day, nor yet encoun- 
ter death, 
But sobbed aloud and said : ' Let 

us go down 
And hide us in the bosom of the 

earth, 
Far from the sight and anger of a 

foe 
So terrible as this ! ' And Olger 

said: 
1 When you behold the harvests in 

the fields 
Shaking with fear, the Po and the 

Ticino 
Lashing the city walls with iron 

waves, 
Then may you know that Charle- 
magne is come.' 40 
And even as he spake, in the 

northwest, 
Lo! there uprose a black and 

threatening cloud, 
Out of whose bosom flashed the 

light of arms 
Upon the people pent up in the 

city; 
A light more terrible than any 

darkness, 
And Charlemagne appeared; — a 

Man of Iron ! 

His helmet was of iron, and his 
gloves 

Of iron, and his breastplate and 
his greaves 

And tassets were of iron, and his 
shield. 

In his left hand he held an iron 
spear, 50 

In his right hand his sword invin- 
cible. 

The horse he rode on had the 
strength of iron, 



And color of iron. All who went 

before him, 
Beside him and behind him, his 

whole host, 
Were armed with iron, and their 

hearts within them 
Were stronger than the armor 

that they wore. 
The fields and all the roads were 

filled with iron, 
And points of iron glistened in the 

sun 
And shed a terror through the city 

streets. 

This at a single glance Olger the 

Dane 60 

Saw from the tower, and turning 

to the King 
Exclaimed in haste : ' Behold ! 

this is the man 
You looked for with such eager- 

ness ! ' and then 
Fell as one dead at Desiderio's 

feet. 



INTEKLUDE 

Well pleased all listened to the 

tale, 
That drew, the Student said, its 

pith 
And marrow from the ancient 

myth 
Of some one with an iron flail ; 
Or that portentous Man of Brass 
Hephaestus made in days of yore, 
Who stalked about the Cretan 

shore, 
And saw the ships appear and 

pass, 
And threw stones at the Argo- 
nauts, 
Being filled with indiscriminate 

ire 
That tangled and perplexed his 

thoughts ; 
But, like a hospitable host, 
When strangers landed on the 

eoast, 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



345 



Heated himself red-hot with fire, 
And hugged them in his arms, and 

pressed 
Their bodies to his burning breast. 

The Poet answered : ' No, not 

thus 
The legend rose; it sprang at 

first 
Out of the hunger and the thirst 
In all men for the marvellous. 
And thus it filled and satisfied 
The imagination of mankind, 
And this ideal to the mind 
Was truer than historic fact. 
Fancy enlarged and multiplied 
The terrors of the awful name 
Of Charlemagne, till he became 
Armipotent in every act, 
And, clothed in mystery, appeared 
Not what men saw, but what they 

feared. 

' Besides, unless my memory fail, 
Your some one with an iron flail 
Is not an ancient myth at all, 
But comes much later on the scene 
As Talus in the Faerie Queene, 
The iron groom of Artegall, 
Who threshed out falsehood and 

deceit, 
And truth upheld, and righted 

wrong, 
And was, as is the swallow, fleet, 
And as the lion is, was strong.' 

The Theologian said : ' Perchance 
Your chronicler in writing this 
Had in his mind the Anabasis, 
Where Xenophon describes the 

advance 
Of Artaxerxes to the fight ; 
At first the low gray cloud of 

dust, 
And then a blackness o'er the 

fields 
As of a passing thunder-gust, 
Then flash of brazen armor bright, 
And ranks of men, and spears up- 
thrust, 



Bowmen and troops with wicker 
shields, 

And cavalry equipped in white, 

And chariots ranged in front of 
these 

With scythes upon their axle- 
trees.' 

To this the Student answered: 

' Well, 
I also have a tale to tell 
Of Charlemagne ; a tale that 

throws 
A softer light, more tinged with 

rose, 
Than your grim apparition cast 
Upon the darkness of the past. 
Listen, and hear in English rhyme 
What the good Monk of Laures- 

heim 
Gives as the gossip of his time, 
In mediaeval Latin prose.' 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 

EMMA AND EGINHARD 

When Alcuin taught the sons of 

Charlemagne, 
In the free schools of Aix,' how 

kings should reign, 
And with them taught the children 

of the poor 
How subjects should be patient 

and endure, 
He touched the lips of some, as 

best befit, 
With honey from the hives of Holy 

Writ ; 
Others intoxicated with the wine 
Of ancient history, sweet but less 

divine ; 
Some with the wholesome fruits of 

grammar fed ; 
Others with mysteries of the stars 

o'erhead, 10 

That hang suspended in the 

vaulted sky 
Like lamps in some fair palace 

vast and high. 



346 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



In sooth, it was a pleasant sight 

to see 
That Saxon monk, with hood and 

rosary, 
With inkhorn at his belt, and pen 

and hook, 
And mingled love and reverence 

in his look, 
Or hear the cloister and the court 

repeat 
The measured footfalls of his san- 
dalled feet, 
Or Watch him with the pupils of 

his school, 
Gentle of speech, hut absolute of 

rule. 20 

Among them, always earliest in 

his place, 
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frank- 

ishrace, 
Whose face was bright with flashes 

that forerun 
The splendors of a yet unrisen 

sun. 
To him all things were possible, 

and seemed 
Not what he had accomplished, but 

had dreamed, 
And what were tasks to others 

were his play, 
The pastime of an idle holiday. 

Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, 
said, 

With many a shrug and shaking 
of the head, 30 

Surely some demon must possess 
the lad, 

Who showed more wit than ever 
school-boy had, 

And learned his Trivium thus with- 
out the rod ; 

But Alcuin said it was the grace 
of God. 

Thus he grew up, in Logic point- 
device, 

Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhet- 
oric nice ; 



Science of Numbers, Geometric 

art, 
And lore of Stars, and Music knew 

by heart : 
A Minnesinger, long before the 

times 
Of those who sang their love in 

Suabian rhymes. 40 



The Emperor, when he heard this 

good report 
Of Eginhard much buzzed about 

the court, 
Said to himself, 'This stripling 

seems to be 
Purposely sent into the world for 

me ; 
He shall become my scribe, and 

shall be schooled 
In all the arts whereby the world 

is ruled.' 
Thus did the gentle Eginhard at- 
tain 
To honor in the court of Charle- 
magne ; 
Became the sovereign's favorite, 

his right hand, 
So that his fame was great in all 

the land, 50 

And all men loved him for his 

modest grace 
And comeliness of figure and of 

face. 
An inmate of the palace, yet re- 
cluse, 
A man of books, yet sacred from 

abuse 
Among the armed knights with , 

spur on heel, 
The tramp of horses and the clang 

of steel ; 
And as the Emperor promised he » 

was schooled 
In all the arts by which the world 

is ruled. 
But the one art supreme, whose 

law is fate, 
The Emperor never dreamed of till 

too late. 6d 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



347 



Home from her convent to the 

palace came 
The lovely Princess Emma, whose 

sweet name, 
Whispered by seneschal or snng 

by bard, 
Had often touched the soul of 

Eginhard. 
He saw her from his window, as in 

state 
She came, by knights attended 

through the gate ; 
He saw her at the banquet of that 

day, 
Fresh as the morn, and beautiful 

as May ; 
He saw her in the garden, as she 

strayed 
Among the flowers of summer with 

her maid, 70 

And said to him, ' O Eginhard, dis- 
close 
The meaning and the mystery of 

the rose ; ' 
And trembling he made answer: 

' In good sooth, 
Its mystery is love, its meaning 

youth ! ' 

How can I tell the signals and the 
signs 

By which one heart another heart 
divines ? 

How can I tell the many thousand 
ways 

By which it keeps the secret it be- 
trays ? 

O mystery of love ! O strange ro- 
mance ! 

Among the Peers and Paladins of 
France, 80 

Shining in steel, and prancing on 
gay steeds, 

Noble by birth, yet nobler by great 
deeds, 

The Princess Emma had no words 
nor looks 

But for this clerk, this man of 
thought and books. 



The summer passed, the autumn 

came ; the stalks 
Of lilies blackened in the garden 

walks ; 
The leaves fell, russet-golden and 

blood-red, 
Love - letters thought the poet 

fancy-led, 
Or Jove descending in a shower of 

gold 
Into the lap of Danae of old ; 90 
For poets cherish many a strange 

conceit, 
And love transmutes all nature by 

its heat. 
No more the garden lessons, nor 

the dark 
And hurried meetings in the twi- 
light park ; 
But now the studious lamp, and 

the delights 
Of firesides in the silent winter 

nights, 
And watching from his window 

hour by hour 
The light that burned in Princess 

Emma's tower. 

At length one night, while musing 

by the fire, 
O'ercome at last by his insane de- 
sire,— 100 
For what will reckless love not do 

and dare ? 
He crossed the court, and climbed 

the winding stair, 
With some feigned message in the 

Emperor's name ; 
But when he to the lady's presence 

came 
He knelt down at her feet, until 

she laid 
Her hand upon him, like a naked 

blade, 
And whispered in his ear : ' Arise, 

Sir Knight, 
To my heart's level, O my heart's 

delight.' 

And there he lingered till the crow- 
ing cock, 



348 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The Alectryon of the farmyard and 
the flock, no 

Sang his aubade with lusty voice 
and clear, 

To tell the sleeping world that 
dawn was near. 

And then they parted ; but at part- 
ing, lo ! 

They saw the palace courtyard 
white with snow, 

And, placid as a nun, the moon on 
high 

Gazing from cloudy cloisters of 
the sky. 

* Alas ! ' he said, ' how hide the 
fatal line 

Of footprints leading from thy door 
to mine, 

And none returning ! ' Ah, he lit- 
tle knew 

"What woman's wit, when put to 
proof, can do! 120 

That night the Emperor, sleepless 

with the cares 
And troubles that attend on state 

affairs, 
Had risen before the dawn, and 

musing gazed 
Into the silent night, as one 

amazed 
To see the calm that reigned o'er 

all supreme, 
When his own reign was but a 

troubled dream. 
The moon lit up the gables capped 

with snow, 
And the white roofs, and half the 

court below, 
And he beheld a form, that seemed 

to cower 
Beneath a burden, come from 

Emma's tower, — 130 

A woman, who upon her shoulders 

bore 
Clerk Eginhard to his own private 

door, 
And then returned in haste, but 

still essayed 
To tread the footprints she herself 

had made : 



And as she passed across the 

lighted space, 
The Emperor saw his daughter 

Emma's face ! 

He started not; he did not speak 

or moan, 
But seemed as one who hath been 

turned to stone ; 
And stood there like a statue, nor 

awoke 
Out of his trance of pain, till morn- 
ing broke, 140 
Till the stars faded, and the moon 

went down, 
And o'er the towers and steeples 

of the town 
Came the gray daylight ; then the 

sun, who took 
The empire of the world with sov- 
ereign look, 
Suffusing with a soft and golden 

glow 
All the dead landscape in its 

shroud of snow, 
Touching with flame the tapering 

chapel spires, 
Windows and roofs, and smoke of 

household fires, 
And kindling park and palace as 

he came ; 
The stork's nest on the chimney 

seemed in flame. 150 

And thus he stood till Eginhard 

appeared, 
Demure and modest with his 

comely beard 
And flowing flaxen tresses, come 

to ask, 
As was his wont, the day's ap- 
pointed task. 
The Emperor looked upon him 

with a smile, 
And gently said : ' My son, wait 

yet a while ; 
This hour my council meets upon 

some great 
And very urgent business of the 

state. 
Come back within the hour. On 

thy return 



THE STUDENT'S TALE 



349 



The work appointed for thee shalt 
thou learn.' 160 

Having dismissed this gallant 

Troubadour, 
He summoned straight his council, 

and secure 
And steadfast in his purpose, from 

the throne 
All the adventure of the night 

made known ; 
Then asked for sentence ; and with 

eager breath 
Some answered banishment, and 

others death. 

Then spake the king : ' Your sen- 
tence is not mine ; 
Life is the gift of God, and is di- 
vine ; 
Nor from these palace walls shall 

one depart 
Who carries such a secret in his 

heart; 170 

My better judgment points another 

way. 
Good Alcuin, I remember how one 

day 
When my Pepino asked you, " What 

are men ? " 
You wrote upon his tablets with 

your pen, 
" Guests of the grave and travellers 

that pass ! " 
This being true of all men, we, 

alas! 
Being all fashioned of the selfsame 

dust, 
Let us be merciful as well as just ; 
This passing traveller who hath 

stolen away 
The brightest jewel of my crown 

to-day, 180 

Shall of himself the precious gem 

restore ; 
By giving it, I make it mine once 

more. 
Over those fatal footprints I will 

throw 
My ermine mantle like another 

snow.' 



Then Eginhard was summoned to 

the hall, 
And entered, and in presence of 

them all, 
The Emperor said: 'My son, for 

thou to me 
Hast been a son, and evermore 

shalt be, 
Long hast thou served thy sover- 
eign, and thy zeal 
Pleads to me with importunate 

appeal, 190 

While I have been forgetful to 

requite 
Thy service and affection as was 

right. 
But now the hour is come, when I, 

thy Lord, 
Will crown thy love with such 

supreme reward, 
A gift so precious kings have 

striven in vain 
To win it from the hands of 

Charlemagne.' 

Then sprang the portals of the 

chamber wide, 
And Princess Emma entered, in 

the pride 
Of birth and beauty, that in part 

o'ercame 
The conscious terror and the blush 

of shame. 200 

And the good Emperor rose up 

from his throne, 
And taking her white hand within 

his own 
Placed it in Eginhard's, and said : 

' My son, 
This is the gift thy constant zeal 

hath won ; 
Thus I repay the royal debt I owe, 
And cover up the footprints in the 

snow.' 



INTEELUDE 

Thus ran the Student's pleasant 

rhyme 
Of Eginhard and love and youth ; 
Some doubted its historic truth, 



35° 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



But while they doubted, ne'erthe- 

less 
Saw in it gleams of truthfulness, 
And thanked the Monk of Laures- 

heira. 

This they discussed in various 

mood ; 
Then in the silence that ensued 
Was heard a sharp and sudden 

sound 
As of a bowstring snapped in air ; 
And the Musician with a bound 
Sprang up in terror from his chair, 
And for a moment listening stood, 
Then strode across the room, and 

found 
His dear, his darling violin 
Still lying safe asleep within 
Its little cradle, like a child 
That gives a sudden cry of pain, 
And wakes to fall asleep again ; 
And as he looked at it and smiled, 
By the uncertain light beguiled, 
Despair ! two strings were broken 

in twain. 

"While all lamented and made 

moan, 
With many a sympathetic word 
As if the loss had been their own, 
Deeming the tones they might 

have heard 
Sweeter than they had heard be- 
fore, 
They saw the Landlord at the door, 
The missing man, the portly 

Squire ! 
He had not entered, but he stood 
With both arms full of seasoned 

wood, 
To feed the much-devouring fire, 
That like a lion in a cage 
Lashed its long tail and roared 
with rage. 

The missing man ! Ah, yes, they 

said, 
Missing, but whither had he fled? 
Where had he hidden himself 

away? 



No farther than the barn or shed ; 
He had not hidden himself, nor 

fled; 
How should he pass the rainy day 
But in his barn with hens and hay, 
Or mending harness, cart, or sled? 
Now, having come, he needs must 

stay 
And tell his tale as well as they. 

The Landlord answered only: 

' These 
Are logs from the dead apple-trees 
Of the old orchard planted here 
By the first Howe of Sudbury. 
Nor oak nor maple has so clear 
A flame, or burns so quietly, 
Or leaves an ash so clean and 

white ; ' 
Thinking by this to put aside 
The impending tale that terrified ; 
When suddenly, to his delight, 
The Theologian interposed, 
Saying that when the door was 

closed, 
And they had stopped that draft 

of cold, 
Unpleasant night air, he proposed 
To tell a tale world-wide apart 
From that the Student had just 

told; 
World-wide apart, and yet akin, 
As showing that the human heart 
Beats on forever as of old, 
As well beneath the snow-white 

fold 
Of Quaker kerchief, as within 
Sendal or silk or cloth of gold, 
And without preface would begin. 

And then the clamorous clock 

struck eight, 
Deliberate, with sonorous chime 
Slow measuring out the march of 

time, 
Like some grave Consul of Old 

Kome 
In Jupiter's temple driving home 
The nails that marked the year and 

date. 
Thus interrupted in his rhyme, 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 351 



The Theologian needs must wait ; 
But quoted Horace, where he sings 
The dire Necessity of things, 
That drives into the roofs sublime 
Of new-built houses of the great 
The adamantine nails of Fate. 



When ceased the little carillon 
To herald from its wooden tower 
The important transit of the hour. 
The Theologian hastened on, 
Content to be allowed at last 
To sing his Idyl of the Past. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 

ELIZABETH 

I 

* Ah, how short are the days ! How soon the night overtakes us ! 
In the old country the twilight is longer ; but here in the forest 
Suddenly comes the dark, witb hardly a pause in its coming, 
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight ; 
Yet how grand is the winter ! How spotless the snow is, and perfect ! ' 

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at night-fall to Hannah the housemaid, 
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor, 
By the window she sat with her work, and looked en the landscape 
White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision, 
By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens. 10 
Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields and the 

meadows. 
Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowing 
Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river. 

Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah the housemaid : 
4 Beautiful winter ! yea, the .winter is beautiful, surely, 
If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet on the ceiling. 
But the great Delaware Kiver is not like the Thames, as we saw it 
#Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in the Borough, 
|Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and going ; 
'Here there is nothing but pines, with patches of snow on their 
branches. 20 

There is snow in the air, and see ! it is falling already ; 
All the roads will be blocked, and I pity Joseph to-morrow, 
Breaking his way through the drifts, with his sled and oxen ; and then, 

too, 
How in all the world shall we get to Meeting on First-Day? ' 

But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, mildly reproving : 
4 Surely the Lord will provide ; for unto the snow He sayeth, 
Be thou on the earth, the Lord sayeth ; He it is 
Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the hoar-frost.' 
So she folded her work and laid it away in her basket. 

Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed and fastened the shut- 
ters, 30 
Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the table, and placed there 



352 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 

Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye loaf, and the butter 
Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand with a holder, 
Took from the crane in the chimney the steaming and simmering 

kettle, 
Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen teapot, 
Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and wonderful figures. 

Then Elizabeth said, ' Lo ! Joseph is long on his errand. 
I have sent him away with a hamper of food and of clothing 
For the poor in the village. A good lad and cheerful is Joseph ; 
In the right place is his heart, and his hand is ready and willing.' 40 

Thus in praise of her servant she spake, and Hannah the housemaid 
Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but governed her tongue, and 

was silent, 
While her mistress went on : ' The house is far from the village : 
We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends that in passing 
Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad by their coming.' 

Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, the thrifty, the fru- 
gal: 
' Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house were a tavern ; 
Open to all are its doors, and they come and go like the pigeons 
In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over the hayloft, 
Cooing and smoothing their feathers and basking themselves in the 
sunshine.' 50 

But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Elizabeth answered : 
' All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or withhold it ; 
I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to those of his people 
Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his service. 
His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can I make them 
Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever is given. 
Therefore my excellent father first built this house in the clearing ; 
Though he came not himself, I came ; for the Lord was my guidance, 
Leading me here for this service. We must not grudge, then, to others 
Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall from our table.' 60 

Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the penitent housemaid; 
And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and softer : 
' Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May-Meeting in London, 
When I was still a child, how we sat in the silent assembly, 
Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive submission? 
No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, John Estaugh, 
Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he were John the Apostle, 
Speaking such words of power that they bowed our hearts, as a strong 

wind 
Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is ripe for the sickle. 
Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne inward upon me, 70 

Wherefore I do not know; but strong is the feeling within me 
That once more I shall see a face I have never forgotten.' 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 353 

11 
E'en as she spake they heard the musical jangle of sleigh-bells, 
First far off, with a dreamy sound and faint in the distance, 
Then growing nearer and louder, and turning into the farmyard, 
Till it stopped at the door, with sudden creaking of runners. 
Then there were voices heard as of two men talking together, 
And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said Hannah the house- 
maid, 
1 It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what stranger is with him.' 

Down from its nail she took and lighted the great tin lantern 80 

Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the top of a lighthouse, 
And went forth to receive the coming guest at the doorway, 
Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and shadow 
Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the horses, 
And the forms of men, snow-covered, looming gigantic. 
Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered the house with the stran- 
ger. 
Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow with the night air; 
And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going to meet him, 
As if an unseen power had announced and preceded his presence, 
And he had come as one whose coming had long been expected, go 
Quietly gave him her hand, and said, ' Thou art welcome, John 

Estaugh.' 
And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet behavior, 
' Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth ? After so many 
Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing that I find thee. 
Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here to thy threshold. 
For as I journeyed along, and pondered alone and in silence 
On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in the snow-mist, 
Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by the wayside 
Paused and waited. Forthwith I remembered Queen Candace's 

eunuch, 
How on the way that goes down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, 100 

Beading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and spake unto Philip, 
Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with him. 
So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge beside me, 
And as we talked on the way he told me of thee and thy homestead, 
How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that never deceiveth, 
Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst come to this country. 
And I remembered thy name, and thy father and mother in England, 
And on my journey have stopped to see thee, Elizabeth Haddon, 
Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors of love thou art doing.' 

And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, and serenely no 

Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as she answered, 
'Surely the hand of the Lord is in it ; his Spirit hath led thee 
Out of the darkness and storm to the light and peace of my fireside.' 

Then, with stamping of feet the door was opened, and Joseph 
Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the light out. 



354 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 

Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their supper ; 
For underneath that roof was no distinction of persons, 
But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and one household. 

When the supper was ended they drew their chairs to the fireplace, 
Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of firewood, 120 

Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots, 
Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible bounty 
All who fled from the cold, exultant, laughing at winter ! 
Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clearing the table, 
Coming and going, and bustling about in closet and chamber. 

Then Elizabeth told her story again to John Estaugh, 
Going far back to the past, to the early days of her childhood ; 
How she had waited and watched, in all her doubts and besetments, 
Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet inflowings 
Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative sounded, 130 

And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot with her people 
Here in the desert land, and God would provide for the issue. 

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and demurely 
Listened, or seemed to listen, and in the silence that followed 
Nothing was heard for a while but the step of Hannah the housemaid 
Walking the floor overhead, and setting the chambers in order. 
And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, ' The maiden 
Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet are heavy and awkward.' 
Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his tongue, and was silent. 

Then came the hour of sleep, death's counterfeit, nightly rehearsal 140 
Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, where no man 
Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are unbroken ! 
Silently over that house the blessing of slumber descended. 
But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in his splendor, 
Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his path in the hea- 
vens, 
Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a pathway 
Through the drifts of snow ; the horses already were harnessed, 
And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at the threshold, 
Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May ; while above them 
Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out of the attic, 15c 
Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the casement, 
As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its window, 
Then disappears again, and closes the shutter behind it. 

in 

Now was the winter gone, and the snow ; and Eobin the Redbreast 
Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no other 
That had covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood, and blithely 
All the birds sang with him, and little cared for his boasting, 
Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, and only 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE 355 

Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for the nests they were 

building. 
"With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth Haddon 160 

Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and songless. 
Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and music, 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies vernal. 

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that slowly 
Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims, 
Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly Meeting 
In the neighboring town ; and with them came riding John Estaugh. 
At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alighting 
Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the honey 
Brought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall of the garden; 170 
Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued their journey, 
And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah the housemaid. 
But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaning 
Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh : 
' Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee, 
Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others ; 
Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth.' 
And they rode slowly along through the woods, conversing together. 
It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest ; 
It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning ! 180 

Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance, 
As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have guarded : 
' I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell thee ; 
I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh.' 

And John Estaugh made answer, surprised at the words she had 
spoken, 
' Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit ; 
Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate whiteness, 
Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning. 
But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me. 
When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completed 190 
He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillness 
Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guidance.' 

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in spirit, 
' So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of it further. 
It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrow 
Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know not 
When I shall see thee more ; but if the Lord hath decreed it, 
Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me.' 
And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others. 

I 
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, 200 

Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness ; 



356 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, 
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. 

Now went on as of old the quiet life of the homestead. 
Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all things 
Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of others, 
Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled ; and Hannah the house- 
maid 
Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and scouring, 
Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of Joseph, 
And was at times reproved for her light and frothy behavior, 210 

For her shy looks, and her careless words, and her evil surmisings, 
Being pressed down somewhat, like a cart with sheaves overladen, 
As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting the Scriptures. 

Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the sea, and departing 
Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and precious, 
Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to him in its sweet- 
ness 
Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house with its odor. 
O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting ! 
O lost hours and days in which we might have been happy ! 
But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering footsteps, 220 

And at last came the voice, imperative, questionless, certain. 

Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea for the gift that was of. 
fered, 
Better than houses and lands, the gift of a woman's affection. 
And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the Silent Assembly, 
Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a little, 
Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all things. 
Such were the marriage rites of John and Elizabeth Estaugh. 

And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the diligent servant, 
Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the housemaid ; 
For when he asked her the question, she answered, ' Nay ; ' and then 
added : 230 

' But thee may make believe, and see what will come of it, Joseph.' 



INTEKLUDE 

6 A pleasant and a winsome 

tale,' 
The Student said, 'though some- 
what pale 
And quiet in its coloring, 
As if it caught its tone and air 
From the gray suits that Quakers 

wear; 
Yet worthy of some German bard, 
Hebel. or Voss. or Eberhard, 



Who love of humble themes to 

sing, 
In humble verse ; but no more true 
Than was the tale I told to you.' 

The Theologian made reply, 
And with some warmth, 'That I 

deny ; 
'T is no invention of my own, 
But something well and widely 

known 
To readers of a riper age, 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



357 



Writ by the skilful hand that wrote 
The Indian tale of Hobomok, 
And Philothea's classic page. 
I found it like a waif afloat, 
Or dulse uprooted from its rock, 
On the swift tides that ebb and 

flow 
In daily papers, and at flood 
Bear freighted vessels to and fro, 
But later, wben the ebb is low, 
Leave a long waste of sand and 

mud.' 

' It matters little,' quoth the Jew ; 
'The cloak of truth is lined with 

lies, 
Sayeth some proverb old and wise ; 
And Love is master of all arts, 
And puts it into human hearts 
The strangest things to say and 

do.' 

And here the controversy closed 
Abruptly, ere 't was well begun ; 
For the Sicilian interposed 
With, ' Lordlings, listen, every one 
That listen may, unto a tale 
That's merrier than the nightin- 
gale; 
A tale that cannot boast, forsooth, 
A single rag or shred of truth ; 
That does not leave the mind in 

doubt 
As to the with it or without; 
A naked falsehood and absurd 
As mortal ever told or heard. 
Therefore I tell it ; or, maybe, 
Simply because it pleases me.' 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE 
THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIOEE 

Once on a time, some centuries 
ago, 
In the hot sunshine two Francis- 
can friars 
Wended their weary way, with 
footsteps slow, 
Back to their convent, whose 
white walls and spires 



Gleamed on the hillside like a 
patch of snow ; 
Covered with dust they were, and 
torn by briers, 

And bore like sumpter-mules upon 
their backs 

The badge of poverty, their beg- 
gar's sacks. 

The first was Brother Anthony, a 

spare 
And silent man, with pallid 

cheeks and thin, 10 

Much given to vigils, penance, 

fasting, prayer, 
Solemn and gray, and worn with 

discipline, 
As if his body but white ashes 

were, 
Heaped on the living coals that 

glowed within ; 
A simple monk, like many of his 

day, 
Whose instinct was to listen and 

obey. 

A different man was Brother Tim- 
othy, 
Of larger mould and of a coarser 
paste ; 

A rubicund and stalwart monk 
was he, 
Broad in the shoulders, broader 
in the waist, 20 

Who often filled the dull refec- 
tory 
With noise by which the convent 
was disgraced, 

But to the mass-book gave but 
little heed, 

By reason he had never learned to 
read. 

Now, as they passed the outskirts 
of a wood, 
They saw, with mingled pleasure 
and surprise, 
Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that 
stood 
Lazily winking his large, limpid 
eyes. 



358 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The farmer Gilbert, of that neigh- 
borhood, 
His owner was, who, looking for 
supplies 30 

Of fagots, deeper in the wood had 
strayed, 

Leaving his beast to ponder in the 
shade. 

As soon as Brother Timothy es- 
pied 
The patient animal, he said: 
' Good-lack ! 

Thus for our needs doth Provi- 
dence provide ; 
We'll lay our wallets on the 
creature's back.' 

This being done, he leisurely un- 
tied 
From head and neck the halter 
of the jack, 

And put it round his own, and to 
the tree 

Stood tethered fast as if the ass 
were he. 40 

And, bursting forth into a merry 

laugh, 
He cried to Brother Anthony: 

* Away ! 
And drive the ass before you with 

your staff ; 
And when you reach the convent 

you may say 
You left me at a farm, half tired 

and half 
111 with a fever, for a night and 

day, 
And that the farmer lent this ass 

to bear 
Our wallets, that are heavy with 

good fare.' 

Now Brother Anthony, who knew 
the pranks 
Of Brother Timothy, would not 
persuade 50 

Or reason with him on his quirks 
and cranks, 
But, being obedient, silently 
obeyed; 



And, smiting with his staff the 
ass's flanks, 
Drove him before him over hill 
and glade, 

Safe with his provend to the con- 
vent gate, 

Leaving poor Brother Timothy to 
his fate. 

Then Gilbert, laden with fagots for 

his fire, 
Forth issued from the wood, and 

stood aghast 
To see the ponderous body of the 

friar 
Standing where he had left his 

donkey last. 60 

Trembling he stood, and dared not 

venture nigher, 
But stared, and gaped, and 

crossed himself full fast ; 
For, being credulous and of little 

wit, 
He thought it was some demon 

from the pit. 

While speechless and bewildered 

thus he gazed, 
And dropped his load of fagots 

on the ground, 
Quoth Brother Timothy: 'Be not 

amazed 
That where you left a donkey 

should be found 
A poor Franciscan friar, half- 
starved and crazed, 
Standing demure and with a 

halter bound : 70 

But set me free, and hear the pit 

eous story 
Of Brother Timothy of Casal- 

Maggiore. 

' I am a sinful man, although you 
see 
I wear the consecrated cowl and 
cape; 
You never owned an ass, but you 
owned me, 
Changed and transformed from 
my own natural shape 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



359 



All for the deadly sin of gluttony, 
From which I could not other- 
wise escape, 

Than by this penance, dieting on 
grass, 

And being worked and beaten as 
an ass. 80 

* Think of the ignominy I endured; 
Think of the miserable life I 

led, 
The toil and blows to which I was 

inured, 
My wretched lodging in a windy 

shed, 
My scanty fare so grudgingly pro- 
cured, 
The damp and musty straw that 

formed my bed ! 
But, having done this penance for 

my sins, 
My life as man and monk again 

begins.' 

The simple Gilbert, hearing words 

like these, 
"Was conscience - stricken, and 

fell down apace 90 

Before the friar upon his bended 

knees, 
And with a suppliant voice im- 
plored his grace ; 
And the good monk, now very 

much at ease, 
Granted him pardon with a 

smiling face, 
Nor could refuse to be that night 

his guest, 
It being late, and he in need of 

rest. 

Upon a hillside, where the olive 
thrives, 
"With figures painted on its 
whitewashed walls, 

The cottage stood; and near the 
humming hives 
Made murmurs as of far-off 
waterfalls ; 100 

A place where those who love se- 
cluded lives 



Might live content, and, free 
from noise and brawls, 

Like Claudian's Old Man of Verona 
here 

Measure by fruits the slow-revolv- 
ing year. 

And, coming to this cottage of con- 
tent, 
They found his children, and the 
buxom wench 

His wife, Dame Cicely, and his 
father, bent 
With years and labor, seated on 
a bench, 

Kepeating over some obscure 
event 
In the old wars of Milanese and 
French; no 

All welcomed the Franciscan, with 
a sense 

Of sacred awe and humble rever- 
ence. 

When Gilbert told them what had 
come to pass, 
How beyond question, cavil, or 
surmise, 

Good Brother Timothy had been 
their ass, 
You should have seen the won- 
der in their eyes ; 

You should have heard them cry 
' Alas ! alas ! ' 
Have heard their lamentations 
and their sighs ! 

For all believed the story, and be- 
gan 119 

To see a saint in this afflicted man. 

Forthwith there was prepared a 
grand repast, 
To satisfy the craving of th6 
friar 
After so rigid and prolonged a fast ; 
The bustling housewife stirred 
the kitchen fire ; 
Then her two barn-yard fowls, her 
best and last, 
Were put to death, at her ex- 
press desire, 



q6o 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And served up with a salad in a 

bowl, 
And flasks of country wine to 

crown the whole. 

It would not be believed should I 

repeat 
How hungry Brother Timothy 

appeared ; 130 

It was a pleasure but to see him eat, 

His white teeth flashing through 

his russet beard, 
His face aglow and flushed with 

wine and meat, 
His roguish eyes that rolled and 

laughed and leered ! 
Lord ! how he drank the blood-red 

country wine 
As if the village vintage were 

divine ! 

And all the while he talked with- 
out surcease, 
And told his merry tales with 

jovial glee 
That never flagged, but rather did 

increase, 
And laughed aloud as if insane 

were he, 140 

And wagged his red beard, matted 

like a fleece, 
And cast such glances at Dame 

Cicely 
That Gilbert now grew angry with 

his guest, 
And thus in words his rising wrath 

expressed. 

* Good father,' said he, ' easily we 
see 
How needful in some persons, 
and how right, 
Mortification of the flesh may be. 
The indulgence you have given 
it to-night, 
After long penance, clearly proves 
to me 
Your strength against tempta- 
tion is but slight, 150 
And shows the dreadful peril you 

are in 
Of a relapse into your deadly sin. 



' To-morrow morning, with the ris 

ing sun, 
Go back unto your convent, nor 

refrain 
From fasting and from scourging, 

for you run 
Great danger to become an ass 

again, 
Since monkish flesh and asinine 

are one ; 
Therefore be wise, nor longer 

here remain, 
Unless you wish the scourge 

should be applied 
By other hands, that will not spare 

your hide.' 160 



When this the monk had heard, 

his color fled 
And then returned, like lightning 

in the air, 
Till he was all one blush from foot 

to head, 
And even the bald spot in his 

russet hair 
Turned from its usual pallor to 

bright red ! 
The old man was asleep upon 

his chair. 
Then all retired, and sank into the 

deep 
And helpless imbecility of sleep. 



They slept until the dawn of day 

drew near, 
Tillthe cock should have crowed, 

but did not crow, 170 

For they had slain the shining 

chanticleer 
And eaten him for supper, as 

you know. 
The monk was up betimes and of 

good cheer, 
And, having breakfasted, made 

haste to go, 
As if he heard the distant matin 

bell, 
And had but little time to say fare< 

well. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE 



361 



Fresh was the morning as the 

breath of kine ; 
Odors of herbs commingled with 

the sweet 
Balsamic exhalations of the pine ; 
A haze was in the air presaging 

heat ; 180 

Uprose the sun above the Apen- 

nine, 
And all the misty valleys at its 

feet 
Were full of the delirious song of 

birds, 
Voices of men, and bells, and low 

of herds. 

A.11 this to Brother Timothy was 

naught ; 
He did not care for scenery, nor 

here 
His busy fancy found the thing it 

sought ; 
But when he saw the convent 

walls appear, 
And smoke from kitchen chimneys 

upward caught 
And whirled aloft into the atmo- 
sphere, 190 
He quickened his slow footsteps, 

like a beast 
That scents the stable a league off 

at least. 

And as he entered through the 
convent gate 
He saw there in the court the 
ass, who stood 

Twirling his ears about, and 
seemed to wait, 
Just as he found him waiting in 
the wood ; 

And told the Prior that, to allevi- 
ate 
The daily labors of the brother- 
hood, 

The owner, being a man of means 
and thrift, 

Bestowed him on the convent as a 
gift 200 



And thereupon the Prior for many 

days 
Revolved this serious matter in 

his mind, 
And turned it over many different 

ways, 
Hoping that some safe issue he 

might find ; 
But stood in fear of what the 

world would say, 
If he accepted presents of this 

kind, 
Employing beasts of burden for 

the packs 
That lazy monks should carry on 

their backs. 

Then, to avoid all scandal of the 

sort, 
And stop the mouth of cavil, he 

decreed 210 

That he would cut the tedious 

matter short, 
And sell the ass with all con- 
venient speed, 
Thus saving the expense of his 

support, 
And hoarding something for a 

time of need. 
So he despatched him to the neigh- 

boring Fair, 
And freed himself from cumber 

and from care. 

It happened now by chance, as 

some might say, 
Others perhaps would call it 

destiny, 
Gilbert was at the Fair ; and heard 

a bray, 
And nearer came and saw that 

it was he, 220 

And whispered in his ear, 'Ah, 

lackaday ! 
Good father, the rebellious flesh, 

I see, 
Has changed you back into an ass 

again, 
And all my admonitions were in 

vain.' 



362 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The ass, who felt this breathing 

in his ear, 
Did not turn round to look, but 

shook his head, 
As if he were not pleased these 

words to hear, 
And contradicted all that had 

been said. 
And this made Gilbert cry in voice 

more clear, 
' I know you well ; your hair is 

russet-red; 230 

Do not deny it; for you are the 

same 
Franciscan friar, and Timothy by 

name.' 

The ass, though now the secret 

had come out, 
"Was obstinate, and shook his 

head again ; 
Until a crowd was gathered round 

about 
To hear this dialogue between 

the twain ; 
And raised their voices in a noisy 

shout 
When Gilbert tried to make the 

matter plain, 
And flouted him and mocked him 

all day long 
With laughter and with jibes and 

scraps of song. 240 

* If this be Brother Timothy,' they 

cried, 
4 Buy him, and feed him on the 

tenderest grass ; 
Thou canst not do too much for 

one so tried 
As to be twice transformed into 

an ass.' 
So simple Gilbert bought him, and 

untied 
His halter, and o'er mountain 

and morass 
He led him homeward, talking as 

he went 
Of good behavior and a mind con- 
tent. 



The children saw them coming, 

and advanced, 
Shouting with joy, and hung 

about his neck, — 250 

Not Gilbert's, but the ass's, — 

round him danced, 
And wove green garlands where- 
withal to deck 
His sacred person; for again it 

chanced 
Their childish feelings, without 

rein or check, 
Could not discriminate in any 

way 
A donkey from a friar of Orders 

Gray. 



' O Brother Timothy,' the children 

said, 
4 You have come back to us just 

as before ; 
We were afraid, and thought that 

you were dead, 
And we should never see you 

any more.' 260 

And then they kissed the white 

star on his head, 
That like a birth-mark or a badge 

he wore, 
And patted him upon the neck 

and face, 
And said a thousand things with 

childish grace. 



Thenceforward and forever he 
was known 
As Brother Timothy, and led 
alway 
A life of luxury, till he had grown 
Ungrateful, being stuffed with 
corn and hay, 
And very vicious. Then in angry 
tone, 
Rousing himself, poor Gilbert 
said one day, 270 

4 When simple kindness is mis- 
understood 
A little flagellation may do good.' 



THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE 



363 



His many vices need not here be 

told; 
Among them was a habit that he 

had 
Of flinging up his heels at young 

and old, 
Breaking his halter, running off 

like mad 
O'er pasture-lands and meadow, 

wood and wold, 
And other misdemeanors quite 

as bad ; 
But worst of all was breaking from 

his shed 
At night, and ravaging the cab- 
bage-bed. 280 

So Brotber Timothy went back 

once more 
To his old life of labor and dis- 
tress ; 
Was' beaten worse than he had 

been before ; 
And now, instead of comfort and 

caress, 
Came labors manifold and trials 

sore; 
And as his toils increased his 

food grew less, 
Until at last the great consoler, 

Death, 
Ended his many sufferings with 

his breatb. 

Great was the lamentation when 
he died ; 
And mainly that he died impeni- 
tent ; 290 

Dame Cicely bewailed, the chil- 
dren cried, 
The old man still remembered 
the event 

In the French war, and Gilbert 
magnified 
His many virtues, as he came 
and went, 

And said : ' Heaven pardon Bro- 
ther Timothy, 

And keep us from the sin of glut- 
tony.' 



INTERLUDE 

* Signor Luigi,' said the Jew, 
When the Sicilian's tale was told s 
' The were-wolf is a legend old, 
But the were-ass is something new, 
And yet for one I think it true. 
The days of wonder have not 

ceased ; 
If there are beasts in forms of 

men, 
As sure it happens now and then, 
Why may not man become a beast, 
In way of punishment at least ? 

' But this I will not now discuss ; 
I leave the theme, that we may 

thus 
Remain within the realm of song. 
The story that I told before, 
Though not acceptable to all, 
At least you did not find too long. 
I beg you, let me try again, 
With something in a different vein, 
Before you bid the curtain fall. 
Meanwhile keep watch upon the 

door, 
Nor let the Landlord leave his 

chair, 
Lest he should vanish into air, 
And so elude our search once 

more.' 

Thus saying, from his lips he blew 
A little cloud of perfumed breath, 
And then, as if it were a clew 
To lead his footsteps safely 

through, 
Began his tale as followeth. 



THE SPANISH JEWS SECOND 
TALE 

SCANDERBEG 

The battle is fought and won 
By King Ladislaus, tbe Hun, 
In fire of hell and death's frost, 
On the day of Pentecost. 
And in rout before his path 



364 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INM 



From the field of battle red 
Flee all that are not dead 
Of the army of Amurath. 

In the darkness of the night 
Iskander, the pride and boast 10 
Of that mighty Othman host, 
"With his routed Turks, takes flight 
From the battle fought and lost 
On the day of Pentecost ; 
Leaving behind him dead 
The army of Amurath, 
The vanguard as it led, 
The rearguard as it fled, 
Mown down in the bloody swath 
Of the battle's aftermath. 20 

But he cared not for Hospodars, 
Nor for Baron or Voivode, 
As on through the night he rode 
And gazed at the fateful stars, 
That were shining overhead ; 
But smote his steed with his staff, 
And smiled to himself, and said : 
' This is the time to laugh.' 

In the middle of the night, 

In a halt of the hurrying flight, 30 

There came a Scribe of the King 

Wearing his signet ring, 

And said in a voice severe : 

' This is the first dark blot 

On thy name, George Castriot ! 

Alas ! why art thou here, 

And the army of Amurath slain, 

And left on the battle plain ? ' 

And Iskander answered and said : 
' They lie on the bloody sod 40 
By the hoofs of horses trod ; 
But this was the decree 
Of the watchers overhead ; 
For the war belongeth to God, 
And in battle who are we, 
Who are we, that shall withstand 
The wind of his lifted hand ? ' 

Then he bade them bind with 
chains 

This man of books and brains ; 

And the Scribe said : ' What mis- 
deed 50 



Have I done, that, without need, 
Thou doest to me this thing ? ' 
And Iskander answering 
Said unto him : ' Not one 
Misdeed to me hast thou done ; 
But for fear that thou shouldst 

run 
And hide thyself from me, 
Have I done this unto thee. 

' Now write me a writing, O Scribe, 

And a blessing be on thy tribe ! 60 

A writing sealed with thy ring, 

To King Amurath's Pasha 

In the city of Croia, 

The city moated and walled, 

That he surrender the same 

In the name of my master, the 

King; 
For what is writ in his name 
Can never be recalled.' 

And the Scribe bowed low in 

dread, 
And unto Iskander said : 70 

1 Allah is great and just, 
But we are as ashes and dust ; 
How shall I do this thing, 
When I know that my guilty head 
Will be forfeit to the King?' 

Then swift as a shooting star 
The curved and shining blade 
Of Iskancler's scimetar 
From its sheath, with jewels 
bright, 79 

Shot, as he thundered : ' Write ! ' 
And the trembling Scribe obeyed, 
And wrote in the fitful glare 
Of the bivouac fire apart, 
With the chill of the midnight air 
On his forehead white and bare, 
And the chill of death in his heart. 

Then again Iskander cried : 
1 Now follow whither I ride, 
For here thou must not stay. 
Thou shalt be as my dearest 
friend, 90 

And honors without end 
Shall surround thee on every side, 
And attend thee night and day.' 



INTERLUDE 



36S 



But the sullen Scribe replied : 
' Our pathways here divide ; 
Mine leadeth not thy way.' 

And even as he spoke 
Fell a sudden scimetar stroke, 
When no one else was near ; 
And the Scribe sank to the 

ground, 100 

As a stone, pushed from the brink 
Of a black pool, might sink 
With a sob and disappear ; 
And no one saw the deed ; 
And in the stillness around 
No sound was heard but the sound 
Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed, 
As forward he sprang with a 

bound. 

Then onward he rode and afar, 
With scarce three hundred 
men, no 

Through river and forest and fen, 
O'er the mountains of Argentar ; 
And his heart was merry within, 
When he crossed the river Drin, 
And saw in the gleam of the morn 
The White Castle Ak-Hissar, 
The city Croia called, 
The city moated and walled, 
The city where he was born, — 
And above it the morning star. 120 

Then his trumpeters in the van 
On their silver bugles blew, 
And in crowds about him ran 
Albanian and Turkoman, 
That the sound together drew. 
And he feasted with his friends, 
And when they were warm with 

wine, 
He said : ' O friends of mine, 
Behold what fortune sends, 
And what the fates design ! 130 
King Amurath commands 
That my father's wide domain, 
This city and all its lands, 
Shall be given to me again.' 

Then to the Castle White 
He rode in regal state, 



And entered in at the gate 

In all his arms bedight, 

And gave to the Pasha 

Who ruled in Croia 140 

The writing of the King, 

Sealed with his signet ring. 

And the Pasha bowed his head, 

And after a silence said : 

' Allah is just and great I 

I yield to the will divine, 

The city and lands are thine ; 

Who shall contend with fate ? ' 

Anon from the castle walls 

The crescent banner falls, 150 

And the crowd beholds instead, 

Like a portent in the sky, 

Iskander's banner fly, 

The Black Eagle with double 

head; 
And a shout ascends on high, 
For men's souls are tired of the 

Turks, 
And their wicked ways and works, 
That have made of Ak-Hissar 
A city of the plague ; 
And the loud, exultant cry 160 
That echoes wide and far 
Is : ' Long live Scanderbeg ! ' 
• 

It was thus Iskander came 
Once more unto his own ; 
And the tidings, like the flame 
Of a conflagration blown 
By the winds of summer, ran, 
Till the land was in a blaze, 
And the cities far and near, 
Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir, 170 
In his Book of the Words of the 

Days, 
' Were taken as a man 
Would take the tip of his ear.' 

INTERLUDE 

' Now that is after my own heart,' 
The Poet cried ; ' one understands 
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg, 
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg, 
And skilled in every warlike art, 
Biding through his Albanian lauds, 



366 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And following the auspicious star 
That shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar.' 

The Theologian added here 
His word of praise not less sin- 
cere, 
Although he ended with a jibe : 
' The hero of romance and song- 
Was born,' he said, ' to right the 

wrong ; 
And I approve ; but all the same 
That bit of treason with the Scribe 
Adds nothing to your hero's fame.' 

The Student praised the good old 

times, 
And liked the canter of the 

rhymes, 
That had a hoofbeat in their 

sound ; 
But longed some further word to 

hear 
Of the old chronicler Ben Meir, 
And where his volume might be 

found. 

The tall Musician walked the 

room 
With folded arms and gleaming 

eyes, • 

As if he saw the Vikings rise, 
Gigantic shadows in the gloom ; 
And much he talked of their em- 
prise 
And meteors seen in Northern 

skies, 
And Heimdal's horn, and day of 

doom. 
But the Sicilian laughed again ; 
' This is the time to laugh,' he said, 
For the whole story he well knew 
Was an Invention of the Jew, 
Spun from the cobwebs in his 

brain, 
And of the same bright scarlet 

thread 
As was the Tale of Kambalu. 

Only the Landlord spake no word ; 
'T was doubtful whether he had 
heard 



The tale at all, so full of care 
Was he of his impending fate, 
That, like the sword of Damo« 

cles, 
Above his head hung blank and 

bare, 
Suspended by a single hair, 
So that he could not sit at ease, 
But sighed and looked disconso- 
late, 
And shifted restless in his chair, 
Revolving how he might evade 
The blow of the descending blade. 

The Student came to his relief 

By saying in his easy way 

To the Musician : ' Calm your 

grief, 
My fair Apollo of the North, 
Balder the Beautiful and so forth ; 
Although your magic lyre or lutex 
With broken strings is lying mute 
Still you can tell some doleful 

tale, 
Of shipwreck in a midnight gale, 
Or something of the kind to suit 
The mood that we are in to-night 
For what is marvellous and 

strange ; 
So give your nimble fancy range, 
And we will follow in its flight.' 

But the Musician shook his head ; 
' No tale I tell to-night,' he said, 
'While my poor instrument lies 

there, 
Even as a child with vacant stare 
Lies in its little coffin dead.' 

Yet, being urged, he said at last : 
' There comes to me out of the 

Past 
A voice, whose tones are sweet 

and wild, 
Singing a song almost divine, 
And with a tear in every line ; 
An ancient ballad, that my nurse 
Sang to me when I was a child, 
In accents tender as the verse ; 
And sometimes wept, and some- 
times smiled 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 



3$7 



While singing it, to see arise 
The look of wonder in my eyes, 
And feel my heart with terror 

beat. 
This simple ballad I retain 
Clearly imprinted on my brain, 
And as a tale will now repeat.' 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE 

THE MOTHER'S GHOST 

Svend Dyking he rideth adown 
the glade ; 
i" myself teas young ! 
There he hath wooed him so win- 
some a maid ; 
Fair ivorcls gladden so many 
a heart. 

Together were they for seven 

years, 
And together children six were 

theirs. 

Then came Death abroad through 
the land, 

And blighted the beautiful lily- 
wand. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the 

glade, 
And again hath he wooed Jbim 

another maid. 10 

He hath wooed him a maid and 
brought borne a bride, 

But she was bitter and full of 
pride. 

When she came driving into the 
yard, 

There stood the six children weep- 
ing so hard. 

There stood the small children 
with sorrowful heart ; 

From before her feet she thrust 
them apart. 



She gave to them neither ale nor 

bread ; 
' Ye shall suffer hunger and hate, 1 

she said. 

She took from them their quilts of 

blue, 
And said : ' Ye shall lie on the 

straw we strew.' 20 

She took from them the great wax- 
light: 

'Now ye shall lie in the dark at 
night.' 

In the evening late they cried with 

cold ; 
The mother heard it under the 

mould. 

The woman heard it the earth be- 
low: 

'To my little children I must 
go.' 

She standeth before the Lord of 

all: 
'And may I go to my children 

small ? ' 

She prayed him so long, and would 

not cease, 
Until he bade her depart in peace. 

' At cock-crow thou shalt return 
again; 31 

Longer thou shalt not there re- 
main ! ' 

She girded up her sorrowful bones, 
And rifted the walls and the mar- 
ble stones. 

As through the village she flitted 

by, 
The watch-dogs howled aloud to 

the sky. 

When she came to the castle gate, 
There stood her eldest daughter 
in wait. 



3 6S 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK 



'Why standest thou here, dear 


' I left behind me quilts of blue ; 


daughter mine ? 


My children lie on the straw ye 


How fares it with brothers and 


strew. 


sisters thine ? ' 40 






' I left behind me the great wax- 


' Never art thou mother of mine, 


light; 


For my mother was both fair and 


My children lie in the dark at 


fine. 


night. 


1 My mother was white, with cheeks 


' If I come again unto your hall, 


of red, 


As cruel a fate shall you befall ! 


But thou art pale, and like to the 




dead.' 


'Now crows the cock with fea- 




thers red ; 


4 How should I be fair and fine ? 


Back to the earth must all the 


I have been dead ; pale cheeks are 


dead. 


mine. 






' Now crows the cock with feathers 


'How should I be white and 


swart ; 


red, 


The gates of heaven fly wide apart. 


So long, so long have I been 




dead?' 


' Now crows the cock with feathers 




white; 71 


When she came in at the chamber 


I can abide no longer to-night.' 


door, 




There stood the small children 


Whenever they heard the watch- 


weeping sore. 50 


dogs wail, 




They gave the children bread and 


One she braided, another she 


ale. 


brushed, 




The third she lifted, the fourth she 


Whenever they heard the watch- 


hushed. 


dogs bay, 




They feared lest the dead were on 


The fifth she took on her lap and 


their way. 


pressed, 


• 


As if she would suckle it at her 


Whenever they heard the watch- 


breast. 


dogs bark, 




I myself was young ! 


Then to her eldest daughter said 


They feared the dead out there in 


she, 


the dark. 


* Do thou bid Svend Dyring come 


Fair words gladden so many 


hither to me.' 


a heart. 80 


Into the chamber when he came 




She spake to him in anger and 


INTERLUDE 


shame. 




\ 


Touched by the pathos of these 


I left behind me both ale and 


rhymes, 


bread ; 


The Theologian said : ' All praise 


My children hunger and are not 


Be to the ballads of old times 


fed. 60 


. And to the bards of simple ways, 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



369 



Who walked with Nature hand in 
hand, 

Whose country was their Holy 
Land, 

Whose singing robes were home- 
spun brown 

From looms of their own native 
town, 

Which they were not ashamed to 
wear,- 

And not of silk or sendal gay, 

Nor decked with fanciful array 

Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer.' 

To whom the Student answered; 

'Yes; 
All praise and honor! I confess 
That bread and ale, home-baked, 

home-brewed, 
Are wholesome and nutritious 

food, 
But not enough for all our needs ; 
Poets — the best of them — are 

birds 
Of passage; where their instinct 

leads 
They range abroad for thoughts 

and words, 
And from all climes bring home 

the seeds 
That germinate in flowers or 

weeds. 
They are not fowls in barnyards 

born 
To cackle o'er a grain of corn ; 
And if you shut the horizon down 
To the small limits of their town, 
What do you but degrade your 

bard 
Till he at last becomes as one 
Who thinks the all-encircling sun 
Rises and sets in his back yard? ' 

The Theologian said again : 
It may be so ; yet I maintain 
That what is native still is best, 
And little care I for the rest. 
'T is a long story ; time would fail 
To tell it, and the hour is late ; 
We will not waste it in debate, 
But listen to our Landlord's tale.' 



And thus the sword of Damocles 
Descending not by slow degrees, 
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell, 
Who blushing, and with much de- 
mur 
And many vain apologies, 
Plucking up heart, began to tell 
The Ehyme of one Sir Christopher. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 

THE EHYME OF SIR CHRISTO- 
PHER 

It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
From Merry England over the sea, 
Who stepped upon this continent 
As if his august presence lent 
A glory to the colony. 

You should have seen him in the 
street 

Of the little Boston of Winthrop's 
time, 

His rapier dangling at his feet, 

Doublet and hose and boots com- 
plete, 10 

Prince Rupert hat with ostrich 
plume, 

Gloves that exhaled a faint per- 
fume, 

Luxuriant curls and air sublime, 

And superior manners now obso- 
lete! 

He had a way of saying things 
That made one think of courts and 

kings, 
And lords and ladies of high de- 
gree*; 
So that not having been at court 
Seemed something very little short 
Of treason or lese-majesty, 20 

Such an accomplished knight was 
he. 

His dwelling was just beyond the 

town, 
At what he called hfs country-seat,- 



37° 



talp:s of a wayside inn 



For, careless of Fortune's smile or 
frown, 

And weary grown of the world and 
its ways, 

He wished to pass the rest of his 
days 

In a private life and a calm re- 
treat. 

But a double life was the life he 
led, 

And, while professing to be in 
search 

Of a godly course, and willing, he 
said, 30 

Nay, anxious to join the Puritan 
church, 

He made of all this but small ac- 
count, 

And passed his idle hours in- 
stead 

With roystering Morton of Merry 
Mount, 

That pettifogger from Furnival's 
Inn, 

Lord of misrule and riot and sin, 

Who looked on the wine when it 
was red. 

This country-seat was little more 
Than a cabin of logs ; but in front 

of the door 
A modest flower-bed thickly sown 
With sweet alyssum and colum- 
bine 41 
Made those who saw it at once 

divine 
The touch of some other hand 

than his own. 
And first it was whispered, and 

then it was known, 
That he in secret was harboring 

there 
A little lady with golden hair, 
Whom he called his cousin, but 

whom he had wed 
In the Italian manner, as men 

said, 
And great was the scandal every 

where. 



But worse than this was the vague 
surmise, 50 

Though none could vouch for it or 
aver, 

That the Knight of the Holy Sepul- 
chre 

Was only a Papist in disguise ; 

And the more to imbitter their bit- 
ter lives, 

And the more to trouble the pub- 
lic mind, 

Came letters from England, from 
two other wives, 

Whom he had carelessly left be- 
hind; 

Both of them letters of such a 
kind 

As made the governor hold his 
breath; 

The one imploring him straight to 
send 60 

The husband home, that he might 
amend ; 

The other asking his instant 
death, 

As the only way to make an end. 



The wary governor deemed it 
right, 

When all this wickedness was re-- 
vealed, 

To send his warrant signed and 
sealed, 

And take the body of the knight. 

Armed with this mighty instru- 
ment, 

The marshal, mounting his gallant 
steed, 

Kode forth from town at the top 
of his speed, 70 

And followed by all his bailiffs 
bold, 

As if on high achievement bent, 

To storm some castle or strong- 
hold, 

Challenge the warders on the 
wall, 

And seize in his ancestral hall 

A robber-baron grim and old. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE 



371 



But when through all the dust and 

heat 
He came to Sir Christopher's coun- 
try-seat, 
No knight he found, nor warder 

there, 
But the little lady with golden 

hair, 80 

Who was gathering in the hright 

sunshine 
The sweet alyssum and columbine; 
While gallant Sir Christopher, all 

so gay, 
Being forewarned, through the 

postern gate 
Of his castle wall had tripped 

away, 
And was keeping a little holiday 
In the forests, that hounded his 

estate. 

Then as a trusty squire and true 
The marshal searched the castle 

through, 
Not crediting what the lady said ; 
Searched from cellar to garret in 

vain, 91 

And, finding no knight, came out 

again 
And arrested the golden damsel 

instead, 
And bore her in triumph into the 

town, 
While from her eyes the tears 

rolled down 
On the sweet alyssum and colum- 
bine, 
That she held in her fingers white 

and fine. 

The governor's heart was moved 

to see 
So fair a creature caught within 99 
The snares of Satan and of sin, 
And he read her a little homily 
On the folly and wickedness of 

the lives 
Of women half cousins and half 

wives ; 
But, seeing that naught his words 

availed, 



He sent her away in a ship that 

sailed 
For Merry England over the sea, 
To the other two wives in the old 

countree, 
To search her further, since he 

had failed 
To come at the heart of the mys- 
tery. 

• 
Meanwhile Sir Christopher wan- 

dered away no 

Through pathless woods for a 

month and a day, 
Shooting pigeons, and sleeping at 

night 
With the noble savage, who took 

delight 
In his feathered hat and his velvet 

vest, 
His gun and his rapier and the rest 
But as soon as the noble savage 

heard 
That a bounty was offered for this 

gay bird, 
He wanted to slay him out of 

hand, 
And bring in his beautiful scalp 

for a show, 
Like the glossy head of a kite or 

crow, 120 

Until he was made to understand 
They wanted the bird alive, not 

dead; 
Then he followed him whitherso- 
ever he fled, 
Through forest and field, and 

hunted him down, 
And brought him prisoner into the 

town. 

Alas ! it was a rueful sight, 
To see this melancholy knight 
In such a dismal and hapless 

case; 
His hat deformed by stain and 

dent, 
His plumage broken, his doublet 
rent, 130 

His beard and flowing locks for- 
lorn, 



372 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Matted, dishevelled, and unshorn, 
His boots with dust and mire be- 
sprent ; 
But dignified in his disgrace, 
And wearing an unblushing face. 
And thus before the magistrate 
He stood to hear the doom of 

fate. 
In vain he strove with wonted 

ease 
To modify and extenuate 
His evil deeds in church and state, 
For gone was now his power to 
please ; 141 

And his pompous words had no 

more weight 
Than feathers flying in the breeze. 

With suavity equal to his own 

The governor lent a patient ear 

To the speech evasive and high- 
flown, 

In which he endeavored to make 
clear 

That colonial laws were too se- 
vere 

When applied to a gallant cava- 
lier, 

A gentleman born, and so well 
known, 150 

And accustomed to move in a 
higher sphere. 

All this the Puritan governor 
heard, 

And deigned in answer never a 
word; 

But in summary manner shipped 
away, 

In a vessel that sailed from Salem 
Bay, 

This splendid and famous cava- 
lier, 

With his Rupert , hat and his 
popery, 

To Merry England over the sea, 

As being unmeet to inhabit here. 

Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir 
Christopher, 160 

Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 



The first who furnished this barren 

land 
With apples of Sodom and ropes 

of sand. 



FINALE 

These are the tales those merry 

guests 
Told to each other, well or ill ; 
Like summer birds that lift their 

crests 
Above the borders of their nests 
And twitter, and again are still. 

These are the tales, or new or old, 
In idle moments idly told ; 
Flowers of the field with petals 

thin, 
Lilies that neither toil nor spin, 
And tufts of wayside weeds and 

gorse 
Hung in the parlor of the inn 
Beneath the sign of the Red 

Horse. 

And still, reluctant to retire, 
The friends sat talking by the fire 
And watched the smouldering 

embers burn 
To ashes, and flash up again 
Into a momentary glow, 
Lingering like them when forced 

to go, 
And going when they would re- 
main; 
For on the morrow they must turn 
Their faces homeward, and the 

pain 
Of parting touched with its unrest 
A tender nerve in every breast. 

But sleep at last the victory won ; 
They must be stirring with the 

sun, 
And drowsily good night they 

said, 
And went still gossiping to bed, 
And left the parlor wrapped in 

gloom. 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



373 



The only live thing in the room 
Was the old clock, that in its pace 
Kept time with the revolving 

spheres 
And constellations in their flight, 
And struck with its uplifted mace 
The dark, unconscious hours of 

night, 
To senseless and unlistening ears. 

Uprose the sun ; and every guest, 

Uprisen, was soon equipped and 
dressed 

For journeying home and city- 
ward; 

The old stage-coach was at the 
door, 

With horses harnessed, long be- 
fore 

The sunshine reached the with- 
ered sward 

Beneath the oaks, whose branches 
hoar 

Murmured : ' Farewell forever- 
more.' 

' Farewell ! ' the portly Landlord 
cried ; 

' Farewell ! ' the parting guests re- 
plied, 

But little thought that nevermore 



Their feet would pass that thresh- 
old o'er ; 

That nevermore together there 

Would they assemble, free from 
care, 

To hear the oaks' mysterious 
roar, 

And breathe the wholesome coun- 
try air. 

Where are they now? What lands 

and skies 
Paint pictures in their friendly 

eyes? 
What hope deludes, what promise 

cheers, 
What pleasant voices fill their 

ears ? 
Two are beyond the salt sea 

waves, 
And three already in their graves. 
Perchance the living still may 

look 
Into the pages of this book, 
And see the days of long ago 
Floating and fleeting to and fro, 
As in the well-remembered brook 
They saw the inverted landscape 

gleam, 
And their own faces like a dream 
Look up upon them from below. 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 

Beautiful lily, dwelling by still 
rivers, 
Or solitary mere, 
Or where the sluggish meadow- 
brook delivers 
Its waters to the weir ! 

Thou laughest at the mill, the whir 
and worry 
Of spindle and of loom, 
And the great wheel that toils 
amid the hurry 
And rushing of the flume. 



Born in the purple, born to joy 
and pleasance, 
Thou dost not toil nor spin, 
But make st glad and radiant with 
thy presence 
The meadow and the lin. 



The wind blows, and uplifts thy 
drooping banner, 
And round thee throng and 
run 
The rushes, the green yeomen of 
thy manor, 
The outlaws of the sun. 



374 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



The burnished dragon-fly is thy 
attendant, 
And tilts against the field, 
And down the listed sunbeam rides 
resplendent 
, With steel-blue mail and 
shield. 

Thou art the Iris, fair among the 
fairest, 
Who, armed with golden rod 
And winged with the celestial 
azure, bearest 
The message of some God. 

Thou art the Muse, who far from 
crowded cities 
Hauntest the sylvan streams, 
Playing on pipes of reed the artless 
ditties 
That come to us as dreams. 

O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let 
the river 
Linger to kiss thy feet ! 
O flower of song, bloom on, and 
make forever 
The world more fair and sweet. 



PALINGENESIS 

I lay upon the headland-height, 
and listened 

To the incessant sobbing of the 
sea 
In caverns under me, 

And watched the waves, that 
tossed and fled and glistened, 

Until the rolling meadows of ame- 
thyst 
Melted away in mist. 

Then suddenly, as one from sleep, 

I started ; 
For round about me all the sunny 

capes 
Seemed peopled with the 

shapes 
Of those whom I had known in 

days departed, 10 



Apparelled in the loveliness which 
gleams 
On faces seen in dreams. 

A moment only, and the light and 
glory 

Faded away, and the disconsolate 
shore 
Stood lonely as before ; 

And the wild-roses of the promon- 
tory 

Around me shuddered in the wind, 
and shed 
Their petals of pale red. 

There was an old belief that in the 

embers 
Of all things their primordial form 

exists, 20 

And cunning alchemists 
Could re-create the rose with all its 

members 
From its own ashes, but without 

the bloom, 
Without the lost perfume. 

Ah me ! what wonder-working, oc- 
cult science 

Can from the ashes in our hearts 
once more 
The rose of youth restore ? 

What craft of alchemy can bid de- 
fiance 

To time and change, and for a sin- 
gle hour 
Renew this phantom-flower ? 30 

' Oh, give me back,' I cried, 'the 

vanished splendors, 
The breath of morn, and the exult 

ant strife, 
When the swift stream of life 
Bounds o'er its rocky channel, and 

surrenders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the 

leap 
Into the unknown deep I ' 

And the sea answered, with a lam- 
entation, 

Like some old prophet wailing, and 
it said, 



THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD 



375 



' Alas ! thy youth is dead ! 
It breathes no more, its heart has 
no pulsation ; 40 

In the dark places with the dead 
of old 
It lies forever cold ! ' 

Then said I, ; From its consecrated 

cerements 
I will not drag this sacred dust 

again, 
Only to give me pain ; 
But, still remembering all the lost 

endearments, 
Go on my way, like one who looks 

before, 
And turns to weep no more.' 

Into what land of harvests, what 
plantations 

Bright with autumnal foliage and 
the glow 50 

Of sunsets burning low; 

Beneath what midnight skies, 
whose constellations 

Light up the spacious avenues be- 
tween 
This world and the unseen ! 

Amid what friendly greetings and 
caresses, 

What households, though not alien, 
yet not mine, 
"What bowers of rest divine ; 

To what temptations in lone wil- 
dernesses, 

"What famine of the heart, what 
pain and loss, 
The bearing of what cross ! 60 

I do not know; nor will I vainly 

question 
Those pages of the mystic book 

which hold 
The story still untold, 
But without rash conjecture or 

suggestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence 

and good heed, 
Until ' The End ' I read. 



THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD 

Burk, O evening hearth, and 
waken 
Pleasant visions, as of old ! 
Though the house by winds be 
shaken, 
Safe I keep this room of gold ! 

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy 
Builds her castles in the air, 

Luring me by necromancy 
Up the never-ending stair ! 

But, instead, she builds me bridges 
Over many a dark ravine, 

Where beneath the gusty ridges 
Cataracts dash and roar unseen. 

And I cross them, little heeding 
Blast of wind or torrent's roar, 

As I follow the receding 
Footsteps that have gone before. 

Naught avails the imploring ges- 
ture, 

Naught avails the cry of pain ! 
When I touch the flying vesture, 

'T is the gray robe of the rain. 

Baffled I return, and, leaning 
O'er the parapets of cloud, 

Watch the mist that intervening 
Wraps the valley in its shroud. 

And the sounds of life ascending 
Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, 

Murmur of bells and voices blend- 
ing 
With the rush of waters near. 

Well I know what there lies hidden, 
Every tower and town and farm, 

And again the land forbidden 
Reassumes its vanished charm. 

Well I know the secret places. 
And the nests in hedge and tree ; 

At what doors are friendly faces, 
In what hearts are thoughts of 
me. 



376 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



Through the mist and darkness 
sinking, 
Blown by wind and beateu by 
shower, 
Down I fling the thought I 'm 
thinking, 
Down I toss this Alpine flower. 



HAWTHORNE 
MAY 23, 1864 

How beautiful it was, that one 
bright day 
In the long week of rain ! 
Though all its splendor could not 
chase away 
The omnipresent pain. 

The lovely town was white with 
apple-blooms, 
And the great elms o'erhead 
Dark shadows wove on their aerial 
looms 
Shot through with golden thread. 

Across the meadows, by the gray 
old manse, 
The historic river flowed : 
I was as one who wanders in a 
trance, 
Unconscious of his road. 

The faces of familiar friends 

seemed strange ; 

Their voices I could hear, 

And yet the words they uttered 

seemed to change 

Their meaning to my ear. 

For the one face I looked for was 
not there, 
The one low voice was mute ; 
Only an unseen presence filled the 
air, 
And baffled my pursuit. 

Now I look back, and meadow, 
manse, and stream 
Dimly my thought defines ; 



I only see — a dream within a 
dream — 
The hill-top hearsed with pines. 

I only hear above his place of 
rest 
Their tender undertone, 
The infinite longings of a troubled 
breast, 
The voice so like his own. 

There in seclusion and remote 
from men 
The wizard hand lies cold, 
Which at its topmost speed let fall 
the pen, 
And left the tale half told. 

Ah! who shall lift that wand of 
magic power, 
And the lost clew regain ? 
The unfinished window in Alad- 
din's tower 
Unfinished must remain ! 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

I heard the bells on Christmas 

Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 
And wild and sweet 
The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to 
men! 

And thought how, as the day had 

come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 
Had rolled along 
The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to 
men! 

Till, ringing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to 
day, 
A voice, a chime, 
A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good -will to 
men! 



THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY 



377 



Then from each black, accursed 

mouth 
The cannon thundered in the 
South, 
And with the sound 
The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good - will to 
men! 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good -will to 
men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 
* There is no peace on earth,' I 
said; 
1 For hate is strong, 
And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good -will to 
men!' 

Then pealed the bells more loud 

and deep : 
'God is not dead; nor doth he 
sleep ! 
The Wrong shall fail, 
The Eight prevail, 
With peace on earth, good-will to 
men ! ' 



THE WINDOVEE THE 
CHIMNEY 

See, the fire is sinking low, 
Dusky red the embers glow, 

While above them still I cower, 
While a moment more I linger, 
Though the clock, with lifted fin- 
ger, 
Points beyond the midnight 
hour. 

Sings the blackened log a tune 
Learned in some forgotten June 
From a school-boy at his play, 
When they both were young to- 
gether, 



Heart of youth and summer 
weather 
Making all their holiday. 

And the night-wind rising, hark ! 
How above there in the dark, 

In the midnight and the snow, 
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, 
Like the trumpets of Iskander, 

All the noisy chimneys blow ! 

Every quivering tongue of flame 
Seems to murmur some great 
name, 
Seems to say to me, ' Aspire ! ' 
But the night-wind answers, ' Hol- 
low 
Are the visions that you follow, 
Into darkness sinks your fire ! ' 

Then the flicker of the blaze 
Gleams on volumes of old days, 
Written by masters of the art, 
Loud through whose majestic 

pages 
Eolls the melody of ages, 
Throb the harp-strings of the 
heart. 

And again the tongues of flame 
Start exulting and exclaim : 

' These are prophets, bards, and 
seers ; 
In the horoscope of nations, 
Like ascendant constellations, 

They control the coming years.' 

But the night-wind cries : ' De- 
spair ! 
Those who walk with feet of 
air 
Leave no long-enduring marks ; 
At God's forges incandescent 
Mighty hammers beat incessant, 
These are but the flying sparks. 

1 Dust are all the hands that 

wrought ; 
Books are sepulchres of thought ; 
The dead laurels of the dead 



378 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



Rustle for a moment only, 
Like the withered leaves in lonely- 
Churchyards at some passing 
tread.' 

Suddenly the flame sinks down ; 
Sink the rumors of renown ; 

And alone the night-wind drear 
Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer, — 
' 'T is the brand of Meleager 

Dying on the hearth-stone here ! ' 

And I answer, — ' Though it he, 
Why should that discomfort me ? 

No endeavor is in vain ; 
Its reward is in the doing, 
Aud the rapture of pursuing 

Is the prize the vanquished gain.' 



THE BELLS OF LYNN 

HEARD AT KAHANT 

O curfew of the setting sun ! O 

Bells of Lynn ! 
O requiem of the dying day! O 

Bells of Lynn ! 

From the dark belfries of yon 
cloud-cathedral wafted, 

Your sounds aerial seem to float, 
O Bells of Lynn ! 

Borne on the evening wind across 
the crimson twilight, 

O'er land and sea they rise and 
fall, O Bells of Lynn I 

The fisherman in his boat, far out 
beyond the headland, 

Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, 
O Bells of Lynn ! 

Over the shining sands the wander- 
ing cattle homeward 

Follow each other at your call, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 

The distant lighthouse hears, and 
with his flaming signal 



Answers you, passing the watch- 
word on, O Bells of Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast 
run the tumultuous surges, 

And clap their hands, and shout to 
you, O Bells of Lynn ! 

Till from the shuddering sea, with 
your wild incantations, 

Ye summon up the spectral moon, 
O Bells of Lynn ! 

And startled at the sight, like the 
weird woman of Endor, 

Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 

KILLED AT THE FORD 

He is dead, the beautiful youth, 

The heart of honor, the tongue of 
truth, 

He, the life and light of us all, 

Whose voice was blithe as a bugle- 
call, 

Whom all eyes followed with one 
consent, 

The cheer of whose laugh, and 
whose pleasant word, 

Hushed all murmurs of discontent. 

Only last night, as we rode along, 
Down the dark of the mountain 

gap, 
To visit the picket-guard at the 

ford, 
Little dreaming of any mishap, 
He was humming the words of 

some old song : 
' Two red roses he had on his cap 
And another he bore at the point 

of his sword.' 

Sudden and swift a whistling ball 
Came out of a wood, and the voice 

was still ; 
Something I heard in the darkness 

fall, 
And for a moment my blood grew 

chill; 



TO-MORROW 



379 



I spake in a whisper, as he who 


Wanting the reverence of unshod- 


speaks 


den feet, 


In a room where some one is lying 


Fail of the nimbus which the 


dead ; 


artists paint 


But he made no answer to what I 


Around the shining forehead of 


said. 


the saint, 




And are in their completeness 


We lifted him up to his saddle 


incomplete ! 


again, 


In the old Tuscan town stands 


And through the mire and the 


Giotto's tower, 


mist and the rain 


The lily of Florence blossoming 


Carried him back to the silent 


in stone,— 


camp, 


A vision, a delight, and a de- 


And laid him as if asleep on his 


sire, — 


bed; 


The builder's perfect and centen- 


And I saw by the light of the 


nial flower, 


surgeon's lamp 


That in the night of ages bloomed 


Two white roses upon his cheeks, 


alone, 


And one, just over his heart, blood- 


But wanting still the glory of 


red! 


the spire. 


And I saw in a vision how far and 

fleet 
That fatal bullet went speeding 


TO-MORROW 


'T is late at night, and in the realm 


forth, 


of sleep 


Till it reached a town in the dis- 


My little lambs are folded like 


tant North, 


the flocks ; 


Till it reached a house in a sunny 


From room to room I hear the 


street, 


wakeful clocks 


Till it reached a heart that ceased 


Challenge the passing hour, like 


to beat 


guards that keep 


Without a murmur, without a 


Their solitary watch on tower and 


cry; 


steep ; 


And a bell was tolled, in that far- 


Far off I hear the crowing of the 


off town, 


cocks, 


For one who had passed from cross 


And through the opening door 


to crown, 


that time unlocks 


And the neighbors wondered that 


Feel the fresh breathing of To- 


she should die. 


morrow creep. 




To-morrow! the mysterious, un- 




known guest, 


GIOTTO'S TOWER 


Who cries to me: 'Remember 




Barmecide, 


How many lives, made beautiful 


And tremble to be happy with 


and sweet 


the rest.' 


By self-devotion and by self- 


And I make answer : ' I am satis- 


restraint, 


fied; 


Whose pleasure is to run with- 


I dare not ask ; I know not what 


out complaint 


is best ; 


On unknown errands of the 


God hath already said what shall 


Paraclete, 


betide.' 



3 8o 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE 



DIVINA COMMEDIA 


What exultations trampling on 




despair, 


I 


What tenderness, what tears, 


Oft have I seen at some cathedral 


what hate of wrong, 


door 


What passionate outcry of a soul 


A laborer, pausing in the dust 


in pain, 


and heat, 


Uprose this poem of the earth 


Lay down his burden, and with 


and air, 


reverent feet 


This mediaeval miracle of song ! 


Enter,and cross himself, and on 




the floor 


in 


Kneel to repeat his paternoster 




o'er; 


I enter, and I see thee in the 


Far off the noises of the world 


gloom 


retreat ; 


Of the long aisles, poet satur- 


The loud vociferations < the 


nine! 


street 


And strive to make my steps 


Become an undistinguisnable 


keep pace with thine. 


roar. 


The air is filled with some un- 


So, as I enter here from day to 


known perfume ; 


day, 


The congregation of the dead make 


And leave my burden at this 


room 


minster gate, 


For thee to pass; the votive 


Kneeling in prayer, and not 


tapers shine ; 


ashamed to pray, 


Like rooks that haunt Kavenna's 


The tumult of the time disconso- 


groves of pine 


late 


The hovering echoes fly from 


To inarticulate murmurs dies 


tomb to tomb. 


away, 


From the confessionals I hear 


While the eternal ages watch 


arise 


and wait. 


Eehearsals of forgotten trage- 




dies, 


ii 


And lamentations from the 


How strange the sculptures that 


crypts below ; 


adorn these towers ! 


And then a voice celestial that 


This crowd of statues, in whose 


begins 


folded sleeves 


With the pathetic words, ' Al- 


Birds build their nests ; while 


though your sins 


canopied with leaves 


As scarlet be,' and ends with 


Parvis and portal bloom like 


; as the snow.' 


trellised bowers, 




And the vast minster seems a 


rv 


cross of flowers ! 




But fiends and dragons on the 


With snow-white veil and gar- 


gargoyled eaves 


ments as of flame, 


Watch the dead Christ between 


She stands before thee, who so 


the living thieves, 


long ago 


And, underneath, the traitor 


Filled thy young heart with pas- 


Judas lowers ! 


sion and the woe 


Ah! from what agonies of heart 


From which thy song and all its 


and brain, 


splendors came ; ' 



NOEL 



38i 



And while with stern rebuke she 

speaks thy name, 
The ice about thy heart melts as 

the snow 
On mountain heights, and in 

swift overflow 
Comes gushing from thy lips in 

sobs of shame. 
Thou makest full confession : and 

a gleam, 
As of the dawn on some dark 

forest cast, 
Seems on thy lifted forehead to 

increase ; 
Lethe and Eunoe— the remem- 
bered dream 
And the forgotten sorrow — 

bring at last 
That perfect pardon which is 

perfect peace. 



I lift mine eyes, and all the win- 
dows blaze 
With forms of Saints and holy 

men who died, 
Here martyred and hereafter 

glorified ; 
And the great Eose upon its 

leaves displays 
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic 

roundelays, 
With splendor upon splendor 

multiplied ; 
And Beatrice again at Dante's 

side 
No more rebukes, but smiles her 

words of praise. 
And then the organ sounds, and 

unseen choirs 
Sing the old Latin hymns of 

peace and love 
And benedictions of the Holy 

Ghost; 
And the melodious bells among 

the spires 
O'er all the house-tops and 

through heaven above 
Proclaim the elevation of the 

Host! 



VI 

O star of morning and of liberty ! 
O bringer of the light, whose 

splendor shines 
Above the darkness of the Apen- 
nines, 
Forerunner of the day that is to 

be! 
The voices of the city and the sea, 
The voices of the mountains and 

the pines, 
Eepeat thy song, till the familiar 

lines 
Are footpaths for the thought of 

Italy ! 
Thy flame is blown abroad from 

all the heights, 
Through all the nations, and a 

sound is heard, 
As of a mighty wind, and men 

devout, 
Strangers of Eome, and the new 

proselytes, 
In their own language hear thy 

wondrous word, 
And many are amazed and 

many doubt. 



NOEL 

ENVOY^ A M. AGASSIZ, LA VEILLE 
DE NOEL 1864, AVEC UN PANIER 
DE VINS DIVERS. 

L'Acad&nie en respect, 
Nonobstant l'incorrection 
A la faveur du sujet, 

Ture-lure, 
N'y fera point de rature ; 
Noel ! ture-lure-lure. 

GrUI Barozai. 

Quand les astres de Noel 
Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, 
Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, 
Chantaient gaimeut dans le givre, 

• Bons amis, 
Allons done chez Agassiz ! ' 

Ces illustres Pelerins 
D'Outre-Mer adroits et fins, 



3 82 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Se donnant des airs de pretre, 
A l'envi se vantaient d'etre 

' Bons amis 
De Jean Budolplie Agassiz ! ' 

CEil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, 
Sans reproche et sans pudeur, 
Dans son patois de Bourgogne, 
Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, 

' Bons amis, 
J'ai danse chez Agassiz ! ' 

Verzenay le Champenois, 

Bon Francais, point New-Yor- 

quois* 
Mais des environs dAvize, 
Fredonne a mainte reprise, 

4 Bons amis, 
J'ai chant6 chez Agassiz ! ' 

A c6te marchait un vieux 
Hidalgo, mais non mousseux ; 
Dans le temps de Charlemagne 
Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne ! 

' Bons amis, 
J'ai dine chez Agassiz ! ' 

Derriere eux un Bordelais, 
Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, 
Parfum6 de po6sie 
Eiait, chantait, plein de vie, 

' Bon amis, 
J'ai soupe" chez Agassiz ! ' 



Avec ce beau cadet roux, 
Bras dessus et bras dessous, 
Mine altiere et couleur terne, 
Vint le Sire de Sauternje ; 

■ Bons amis, 
J'ai couch6 chez Agassiz ! ' 

Mais le dernier de ces preux, 
Etait un pauvre Chartreux, 
Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, 
' Benedictions sur le Juste ! 

Bons amis, 
Benissons Pere Agassiz ! ' 

lis arrivent trois a trois, 
Montent l'escalier de bois 
Clopin-clopant ! quel gendarme 
Peut permettre ce vacarme, 

Bons amis, 
A la porte d'Agassiz ! 

' Ouvrez done, mon bon Seigneur, 
Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur ; 
Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes 
Gens de bien et gentilshommes, 

Bons amis, 
De la famille Agassiz ! ' 

Chut, ganaches ! taisez-vous ! 
C'en est trop de vos glouglous ; 
Epargnez aux Philosophes 
Vos abominables strophes ! 

Bons amis, 
Eespectez mon Agassiz! 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



FLIGHT THE THIRD 



FATA MORGANA 

O sweet illusions of Song, 
That tempt me everywhere, 

In the lonely fields, and the throng 
Of the crowded thoroughfare ! 



I approach, and ye vanish away, 
I grasp you, and ye are gone ; 



But ever by night and by day, 
The melody soundeth on. 

As the weary traveller sees 
In desert or prairie vast, 

Blue lakes, overhung with trees, 
That a pleasant shadow cast ; 

Fair towns with turrets high, 
And shining roofs of gold, 



THE MEETING 



3S3 



That vanish as he draws nigh, 
Like mists together rolled, — 

So I wander and wander along, 
And forever before me gleams 

The shining city of song, 
In the beautiful land of dreams. 

But when I would enter the gate 
Of that golden atmosphere, 

It is gone, and I wonder and wait 
For the vision to reappear. 



HAUNTED CHAMBER 

Each heart has its haunted cham- 
ber, 
Where the silent moonlight 
falls ! 
On the floor are mysterious foot- 
steps, 
There are whispers along the 
walls ! 

And mine at times is haunted 
By phantoms of the Past, 

As motionless as shadows 
By the silent moonlight cast. 

A form sits by the window, 
That is not seen by day, 

For as soon as the dawn ap- 
proaches 
It vanishes away. 

It sits there in the moonlight, 

Itself as pale and still, 
And points with its airy finger 

Across the window-sill. 

Without, before the window, 
There stands a gloomy pine, 

Whose boughs wave upward and 
downward 
As wave these thoughts of mine. 

And underneath its branches 
Is the grave of a little child, 

Who died upon life's threshold, 
And never wept nor smiled. 



What are ye, O pallid phantoms ! 

That haunt my troubled brain ? 
That vanish when day approaches, 

And at night return again? 

What are ye, O pallid phantoms ! 

But the statues without breath, 
That stand on the bridge over- 
arching 

The silent river of death? 



THE MEETING 

After so long an absence 

At last we meet again : 
Does the meeting give us plea- 
sure, 

Or does it give us pain ? 

The tree of life has been shaken, 
And but few of us linger now, 
Like the Prophet's two or three 
berries 
In the top of the uppermost 
bough. 

We cordially greet each other 
In the old, familiar tone ; 

And we think, though we do not 
say it, 
How old and gray he is grown ! 

We speak of a Merry Christmas 
And many a Happy New Year ; 

But each in his heart is think- 
ing 
Of those that are not here. 

We speak of friends and their for- 
tunes, 

And of what they did and said, 
Till the dead alone seem living, 

And the living alone seem dead. 

And at last we hardly distinguish 
Between the ghosts and the 
guests ; 
And a mist and shadow of sad- 
ness 
Steals over our merriest jests. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



VOX POPULI 

When Mazarvan the Magician 
Journeyed westward through 
Cathay, 

Nothing heard he but the praises 
Of Badoura on his way. 

But the lessening rumor ended 
When he came to Khaledan, 

There the folk were talking only 
Of Prince Camaralzaman. 

So it happens with the poets : 
Every province hath its own ; 

Camaralzaman is famous 
Where Badoura is unknown. 



THE CASTLE-BUILDER 

A gentle hoy, with soft and 
silken locks, 
A dreamy boy, with brown and 
tender eyes, 
A castle-builder, with his wooden 
blocks, 
And towers that touch imagi- 
nary skies. 

A fearless rider on his father's 
knee, 
An eager listener unto stories 
told 
At the Round Table of the nursery, 
Of heroes and adventures mani- 
fold. 

There will be other towers for thee 
to build ; 
There will be other steeds for 
thee to ride ; 
There will be other legends, and 
all filled 
With greater marvels and more 
glorified. 

Build on, and make thy castles 
high and fair, 
Rising and reaching upward to 
the skies : 



Listen to voices in the upper air, 
Nor lose thy simple faith in mys- 
teries. 



CHANGED 

From the outskirts of the town, 
Where of old the mile -stone 
stood, 
Now a stranger, looking down, 
I behold the shadowy crown 
Of the dark and haunted wood. 

Is it changed, or am I changed ? 
Ah! the oaks are fresh and 
green, 
But the friends with whom I 

ranged 
Through their thickets are es- 
tranged 
By the years that intervene. 

Bright as ever flows the sea, 

Bright as ever shines the sun, 
But alas ! they seem to me 
Not the sun that used to be, 
Not the tides that used to run. 



THE CHALLENGE 

I have a vague remembrance 

Of a story, that is told 
In some ancient Spanish legend 

Or chronicle of old. 

It was when brave King San- 
chez 

Was before Zamora slain, 
And his great besieging army 

Lay encamped upon the plain. 

Don Diego de Ordonez 
Sallied forth in front of all, 

And shouted loud his challenge 
To the warders on the wall. 

All the people of Zamora, 
Both the born and the unborn, 



AFTERMATH 



385 



As traitors did he challenge 


THE BROOK AND THE 


With taunting words of scorn. 


WAVE 


The living, in their houses, 


The brooklet came from the moun- 


And in their graves, the dead ! 


tain, 


And the waters of their rivers, 


As sang the bard of old, 


And their wine, and oil, and 


Running with feet of silver 


bread ! 


Over tbe sands of gold ! 


There is a greater army, 


Far away in the briny ocean 


That besets us round with strife, 


There rolled a turbulent wave, 


A starving, numberless army, 


Now singing along the sea-beach, 


At all the gates of life. 


Now howling along the cave. 


The poverty-stricken millions 


And the brooklet has found the 


Who challenge our wine and 


billow, 


bread, 


Though they flowed so far apart, 


And impeach us all as traitors, 


And has filled with its freshness 


Both the living and the dead. 


and sweetness 




That turbulent, bitter heart ! 


And whenever I sit at the ban- 




quet, 




Where the feast and song are 


AFTERMATH 


high, 




Amid the mirth and the music 


When the summer fields are 


I can hear that fearful cry. 


mown, 




When the birds are fledged and 


And hollow and haggard faces 


flown, 


Look into the lighted hall, 


And the dry leaves strew the 


And wasted hands are extended 


path; 


To catch the crumbs that fall. 


With the falling of the- snow, 




With the cawing of the crow, 


For within there is light and 


Once again the fields we mow 


plenty, 


And gather in the aftermath. 


And odors fill the air ; 




But without there is cold and 


Not the sweet, new grass with 


darkness, 


flowers 


And hunger and despair. 


Is this harvesting of ours ; 




Not the upland clover bloom ; 


And there in the camp of fam- 


But the rowen mixed with weeds, 


ine 


Tangled tufts from marsh and 


In wind and cold and rain, 


meads, 


Christ, the great Lord of the army, 


Where the poppy drops its seeds 


Lies dead upon the plain ! 


In the silence and the gloom. 



3 86 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHAES- 
TUS 

HEPHAESTUS (standing before the 
statue of Pandora). 

Not fashioned out of gold, like 

Hera's throne, 
Nor forged of iron like the thun- 
derbolts 
Of Zeus omnipotent, or other 

works 
Wrought by my hands at Lemnos 

■ or Olympus, 
But moulded in soft clay, that un- 
resisting 
Yields itself to the touch, this 

lovely form 
Before me stands, perfect in every 

part. 
Not Aphrodite's self appeared 

more fair, 
When first upwafted by caressing 

winds 
She came to high Olympus, and the 

gods 10 

Paid homage to her beauty. Thus 

her hair 
Was cinctured; thus her floating 

drapery 
Was like a cloud about her, and 

her face 
Was radiant with the sunshine and 

the sea. 

THE VOICE OF ZEUS. 

Is thy work done, Hephaestus ? 

HEPHAESTUS. 

It is finished ! 

THE VOICE. 

Not finished till I breathe the 

breath of life 
Into her nostrils, and she moves 

and speaks. 



HEPHAESTUS. 

Will she become immortal like 
ourselves ? 



THE VOICE. 

The form that thou hast fashioned 

out of clay 
Is of the earth and mortal ; but the 

spirit, 20 

The life, the exhalation of my 

breath, 
Is of diviner essence and immor- 
tal. 
The gods shall shower on her their 

benefactions, 
She shall possess all gifts: the 

gift of song, 
The gift of eloquence, the gift of 

beauty, 
The fascination and the nameless 

charm 
That shall lead all men captive. 

HEPHaESTUS. 

Wherefore ? wherefore ? 
A wind shakes the house. 

I bear the rushing of a mighty 
wind 

Through all the halls and cham- 
bers of my house ! 

Her parted lips inhale it, and her 
bosom 30 

Heaves with the inspiration. As a 
reed 

Beside a river in the rippling cur- 
rent 

Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts 
her head. 

She gazes round about as if 
amazed ; 

She is alive ; she breathes, but yet 
she speaks not ! 

Pandora descends from the 
pedestal. 



THE MASQUE 


OF PANDORA 387 


CHORUS OF THE GRACES 


II 


AGLAIA. 


OLYMPUS 


In the workshop of Hephaestus 




What is this I see ? 


hermes {.putting on his sandals). 


Have the Gods to four increased 


Much must he toil who serves the 


us 


Immortal Gods, 


"Who were only three ? 


And I, who am their herald, most 


Beautiful in -form and feature, 40 


of all. 


Lovely as the day, 


No rest have I, nor respite. I no 


Can there be so fair a creature 


sooner 


Formed of common clay ? 


Unclasp the winged sandals from 




my feet, 


THALIA. 


Than I again must clasp them, and 


sweet, pale face ! lovely eyes 


depart 70 


of azure, 


Upon some foolish errand. But to- 


Clear as the waters of a brook 


day 


that run 


The errand is not foolish. Never 


Limpid and laughing in the sum- 


yet 


mer sun ! 


With greater joy did I obey the 


golden hair, that like a miser's 


summons 


treasure 


That sends me earthward. I will 


In its abundance overflows the 


fly so swiftly 


measure ! 


That my caduceus in the whistling 


graceful form, that cloudlike 


air 


floatest on 


Shall make a sound like the Pan- 


With the soft, undulating gait of 


dsean pipes, 


one 50 


Cheating the shepherds ; for to-day 


Who moveth as if motion were a 


I go, 


pleasure ! 


Commissioned by high-thundering 


By what name shall I call thee? 


Zeus, to lead 


Nymph or Muse, 


A maiden to Prometheus, in his 


Callirrhoe or Urania? Some 


tower, 


sweet name 


And by my cunning arguments 


Whose every syllable is a caress 


persuade him 80 


Would best befit thee ; but I can- 


To marry her. What mischief lies 


not choose. 


concealed 


Nor do I care to choose ; for still 


In this design I know not ; but I 


the same, 


know 


Nameless or named, will be thy 


Who thinks of marrying hath al- 


loveliness. 


ready taken 




One step upon the road to peni- 


EUPHROSYNE. 


tence. 


Dowered with all celestial gifts, 


Such embassies delight me. Forth 


Skilled in every art 


I launch 


That ennobles and uplifts 60 


On the sustaining air, nor fear to 


And delights the heart, 


fall 


Fair on earth shall be thy fame 


Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like 


As thy face is fair, 


him 


i*.nd Pandora be the name 


Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery 


Thou henceforth shalt bear. 


steeds. 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



I sink, I fly ! The yielding element 
Folds itself round about me like 

an arm, go 

And holds me as a mother holds 

her child. 

Ill 

TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON 
MOUNT CAUCASUS 

PROMETHEUS. 

I hear the trumpet of Alectryon 

Proclaim the dawn. The stars he- 
gin to fade, 

And all the heavens are full of pro- 
phecies 

And evil auguries. Blood-red last 
night 

I saw great Kronos rise ; the cres- 
cent moon 

Sank through the mist, as if it 
were the scythe 

His parricidal hand had flung far 
down 

The western steeps. ye Immor- 
tal Gods, 

What evil are ye plotting and con- 
triving? TOO 

Hermes and Pandora at the 
threshold. 

PANDORA. 

I cannot cross the threshold. An 

unseen 
And icy hand repels me. These 

blank walls 
Oppress me with their weight ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Powerful ye are 
But not omnipotent. Ye cannot 

fight 
Against Necessity. The Fates con- 
trol you, 
As they do us, and so far we are 
equals ! 

PANDORA. 

Motionless, passionless, compan- 
ionless, 



He sits there muttering in his 
beard. His voice 

Is like a river flowing under- 
ground ! iog 

HERMES. 

Prometheus, hail ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Who calls me ? 



It is I. 



Dost thou not know me ? 



PROMETHEUS. 

By thy winged cap 
And winged heels I know thee. 

Thou art Hermes, 
Captain of thieves! Hast thou 

again been stealing 
The heifers of Admetus in the 

sweet 
Meadows of asphodel? or Hera's 

girdle ? 
Or the earth-shaking trident of 

Poseidon ? 

HERMES. 

And thou, Prometheus ; say, hast 

thou again 
Been stealing fire from Helios' 

chariot-wheels 
To light thy furnaces ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Why comest thou hither 
So early in the dawn ? 

HERMES. 

The Immortal Gods 
Know naught of late or early. 
Zeus himself, 121 

The omnipotent hath sent me. 

PROMETHEUS. 

For what purpose 1 

HERMES. 

To bring this maiden to thee. 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



389 



PROMETHEUS. 


They pardon not; they are im. 


I mistrust 


placable, 140 


The Gods and all their gifts. If 


Kevengef ul, unforgiving ! 


they have sent her 




It is for no good purpose. 


HERMES. 




As a pledge 


HERMES. 


Of reconciliation they have sent to 


What disaster 


thee 


Could she bring on thy house, who 


This divine being, to be thy com- 


is a woman? 


panion, 




And bring into thy melancholy 


PROMETHEUS. 


house 


The Gods are not my friends, nor 


The sunshine and the fragrance of 


am I theirs. 


her youth. 


Whatever comes from them, 




though in a shape 


PROMETHEUS. 


As beautiful as this, is evil only. 


I need them not. I have within 


Who art thou ? 


myself 




All that my heart desires; the 


PANDORA. 


ideal beauty 


One who, though to thee unknown, 


Which the creative faculty of 


Yet knoweth thee. 


mind 




Fashions and follows in a thou- 


PROMETHEUS. 


sand shapes 


How shouldst thou know me, wo- 


More lovely than the real. My 


man? 131 


own thoughts 150 




Are my companions ; my designs 


PANDORA. 


and labors 


Who knoweth not Prometheus the 


And aspirations are my only 


humane ? 


friends. 


PROMETHEUS. 


HERMES. 


Prometheus the unfortunate ; to 


Decide not rashly. The decision 


whom 


made 


Both Gods and men have shown 


Can never be recalled. The Gods 


themselves ungrateful. 


implore not, 


When every spark was quenched 


Plead not, solicit not; they only 


on every hearth 


offer 


Throughout the eartb, I brought 


Choice and occasion, which once 


to man the fire 


being passed 


And all its ministrations. My re- 


Eeturn no more. Dost thou ac- 


ward 


cept the gift? 


Hath been the rock and vulture. 






PROMETHEUS. 




No gift of theirs, in whatsoever 


HERMES. 


shape 


But the Gods 


It comes to me, with whatsoever 


At last relent and pardon. 


charm 




To fascinate my sense, will I re- 


PROMETHEUS. 


ceive. 160 


They relent not ; 


Leave me. 



39° 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



PANDORA. 


IV 


Let us go hence. I will not stay. 






THE AIR 


HERMES. 




We leave thee to thy vacant 


hermes {returning to Olympus). 


dreams, and all 


As lonely as the tower that he in- 


The silence and the solitude of 


habits, 


thought, 


As firm and cold as are the crags 


The endless bitterness of unbe- 


about him, 


lief, 


Prometheus stands. The thunder- 


The loneliness of existence with- 


bolts of Zeus 


out love. 


Alone can move him; but the 




tender heart 




Of Epimetheus, burning at white 


CHORUS OF THE FATES. 


heat, 




Hammers and flames like all his 


CLOTHO. 


brother's forges ! 


How the Titan, the defiant, 


Now as an arrow from Hyperion's 


The self-centred, self-reliant, 


bow, 


Wrapped in visions and illusions, 


My errand done, I fly, I float, I 


Robs himself of life's best gifts ! 


soar 200 


Till by all the storm-winds shaken, 


Into the air, returning to Olympus. 


By the blast of fate o'ertaken, 171 


joy of motion! delight to 


Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken, 


cleave 


In the mists of his confusions 


The infinite realms of space, the 


To the reefs of doom he drifts ! 


liquid ether, 




Through the warm sunshine and 




the cooling cloud, 


IiACHESIS. 


Myself as light as sunbeam or as 


Sorely tried and sorely tempted, 


cloud ! 


From no agonies exempted, 


With one touch of my swift and 


In the penance of his trial, 


winged feet, 


And the discipline of pain ; 


I spurn the solid earth, and leave 


Often by illusions cheated, 


it rocking 


Often baffled and defeated 180 


As rocks the bough from which a 


In the tasks to be completed, 


bird takes wing. 


He, by toil and self-denial, 




To the highest shall attain. 


V 


ATROPOS. 


THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEU3 


Tempt no more the noble schemer ; 




Bear unto some idle dreamer 


EPIMETHEUS. 


This new toy and fascination, 


Beautiful apparition! go not 


This new dalliance and delight ! 


hence ! 


To the garden where reposes 


Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy 


Epimetheus crowned with roses, 


voice 210 


To the door that never closes 190 


Is a celestial melody, and thy form 


Upon pleasure and temptation, 


Self-poised as if it floated on the 


Bring this vision of the night ! 


air I 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



39i 



PANDORA. 

No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly 

birth, 
But a mere woman fashioned out 

of clay 
And mortal as the rest. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thy face is fair ; 
There is a wonder in thine azure 

eyes 
That fascinates me. Thy whole 

presence seems 
A soft desire, a breathing thought 

of love. 
Bay, would thy star like Merope's 

grow dim 
If thou shouldst wed beneath 

thee? 

PANDORA. 

Ask me not ; 
I cannot answer thee. I only 
know 221 

The Gods have sent me hither. 



EPIMETHEUS. 

I believe, 

And thus believing am most for- 
tunate. 

It was not Hermes led thee here, 
but Eros, 

And swifter than his arrows were 
thine eyes 

In wounding me. There was no 
moment's space 

Between my seeing thee and lov- 
ing thee. 

Oh, what a telltale face thou hast ! 
Again 

I see the wonder in thy tender 
eyes. 

PANDORA. 

They do but answer to the love in 
thine, 230 

Yet secretly I wonder thou 
shouldst love me. 

Thou knowest me not. 



EPIMETHEUS. 

Perhaps I know thee better 
Than had I known thee longer. 

Yet it seems 
That I have always known thee, 

and but now 
Have found thee. Ah, I have been 

waiting long. 

pandora. 
How beautiful is this house ! The 

atmosphere 
Breathes rest and comfort, and 

the many chambers 
Seem full of welcomes. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

They not only seem, 
But truly are. This dwelling and 
its master 239 

Belong to thee. 

PANDORA. 

Here let me stay forever ! 
There is a spell upon me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thou thyself 
Art the enchantress, and I feel thy 

power 
Envelop me, and wrap my soul and 

sense 
In an Elysian dream. 

PANDORA. 

Oh, let me stay. 
How beautiful are all things round 

about me, 
Multiplied by the mirrors on the 

walls ! 
What treasures hast thou here ! 

Yon oaken chest, 
Carven with figures and embossed 

with gold, 
Is wonderful to look upon ! What 

choice 
And precious things dost thou 

keep hidden in it? 250 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I know not. 'T is a mystery. 



392 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



PANDORA. 


With shafts of their splendors 


Hast thou never 


The Gods unforgiving 


Lifted the lid? 


Pursue the offenders, 




The dead and the living ! 


EPIMETHBUS. 


Fortune forsakes them, 


The oracle forbids. 


Nor earth shall abide them, 280 


Safely concealed there from all 


Nor Tartarus hide them ; 


mortal eyes 


Swift wrath overtakes them. 


Forever sleeps the secret of the 




Gods. 


With useless endeavor, 


Seek not to know what they have 


Forever, forever, 


hidden from thee, 


Is Sisyphus rolling 


Till they themselves reveal it. 


His stone up the mountain ! 




Immersed in the fountain, 


PANDORA. 


Tantalus tastes not 


As thou wilt. 


The water that wastes not ! 




Through ages increasing 290 


EPIMETHEUS. 


The pangs that afflict him, 


Let us go forth from this myste- 


With motions unceasing 


rious place. 


The wheel of Ixion 


The garden walks are pleasant at 


Shall torture its victim ! 


this hour; 




The nightingales among the shel- 




tering houghs 


VI 


Of populous and many - nested 




trees 260 


IN THE GARDEN 


Shall teach me how to woo thee, 




and shall tell me 


EPIMETHEUS. 


By what resistless charms or in- 


Yon snow-white cloud that sails 


cantations 


sublime in ether 


They won their mates. 


Is but the sovereign Zeus, who 




like a swan 


PANDORA. 


Flies to fair-ankled Leda ! 


Thou dost not need a teacher. 






PANDORA. 


They go out. 


Or perchance 




Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape 




of Hera,' 


CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. 


That bore the Centaurs. 


What the Immortals 




Confide to thy keeping, 


EPIMETHEUS. 


Tell unto no man ; 


The divine and human. 


"Waking or sleeping, 




Closed be thy portals 


CHORUS OF BIRDS. 


To friend as to foeman. 


Gently swaying to and fro, 300 




Eocked by all the winds that blow, 


Silence conceals it ; 270 


Bright with sunshine from above, 


The word that is spoken 


Dark with shadow from below, 


Betrays and reveals it ; 


Beak to beak and breast to breast 


By breath or by token 


In the cradle of their nest, 


The charm may be broken. 


Lie the fledglings of our love. 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



393 



Love ! love ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Hark ! listen ! Hear how sweetly 

overhead 
The feathered flute-players pipe 

their songs of love, 
And Echo answers, love and only 

love. 310 

CHORUS OF BIRDS. 

Every flutter of the wing, 
Every note of song we sing, 
Every murmur, every tone, 
Is of love and love alone. 



ECHO. 



Love alone ! 



EPIMETHEIJS. 

Who would not love, if loving she 

might he 
Changed like Callisto to a star in 

heaven? 

PANDORA. 

Ah, who would love, if loving she 

might he 
Like Semele consumed and hurnt 

to ashes ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Whence knowest thou these 
stories ? 

PANDORA. 

Hermes taught me ; 

He told me all the history of the 

Gods. 321 

CHORUS OF REEDS. 

Evermore a sound shall be 
In the reeds of Arcady, 
Evermore a low lament 
Of unrest and discontent. 
As the story is retold 
Of the nymph so coy and cold, 
Who with frightened feet out- 
ran 
The pursuing steps of Pan. 



EPIMETHEUS. 

The pipe of Pan out of these reeds 
is made, 330 

And when he plays it to the shep- 
herds 

They pity him, so mournful is the 
sound. 

Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx 
was. 

PANDORA. 

Nor thou as Pan he rude and man- 
nerless. 

PROMETHEUS (without). 

Ho ! Epimetheus ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

'T is my brother's voice ; 
A sound unwelcome and inoppor- 
tune 
As was the braying of Silenus' ass, 
Once heard in Cybele's garden. 

PANDORA. 

Let me go. 
I would not be found here. I 
would not see him. 
She escapes among the trees. 

CHORUS OF DRTADES. 

Haste and hide thee, 340 

Ere too late, 

In these thickets intricate ; 

Lest Prometheus 

See and chide thee. 

Lest some hurt 

Or harm betide thee, 

Haste and hide thee ! 

Prometheus (entering). 
Who was it fled from here ? I saw 

a shape 
Flitting among the trees. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

It was Pandora. 

PROMETHEUS. 

O Epimetheus ! Is it then in vain 

That I have warned thee? Let 

me now implore. 351 



394 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



Thou harborest in thy house a 


Come with me to my tower on Cau- 


dangerous guest. 


casus : 




See there my forges in the roaring 


BPIMETHEUS. 


' caverns, 


Whom the Gods love they honor 


Beneficent to man, and taste the joy 


with such guests. 


That springs from labor. Read 




with me the stars, 371 


PROMETHEUS. 


And learn the virtues that lie hid- 


Whom the Gods would destroy they 


den in plants, 


first make mad. 


And all things that are useful. 


EPIMETHEUS. 


EPIMETHEUS. 


Shall I refuse the gifts they send 


my brother ! 


to me? 


I am not as thou art. Thou dost 




inherit 


PROMETHEUS. 


Our father's strength, and I our 


Eeject all gifts that come from 


mother's weakness : 


higher powers. 


The softness of the Oceanides, 




The yielding nature that cannot 


EPIMETHEUS. 


resist. 


Such gifts as this are not to be re- 




jected. 


PROMETHEUS. 


Because thou wilt not. 


PROMETHEUS. 




Make not thyself the slave of any 


EPIMETHEUS. 


woman. 


Nay ; because I cannot. 


EPIMETHEUS. 


PROMETHEUS. 


Make not thyself the judge of any 


Assert thyself ; rise up to thy full 


man. 


height : 




Shake from thy soul these dreams 


PROMETHEUS. 


effeminate, 380 


I judge thee not; for thou art 


These passions born of indolence 


more than man ; 360 


and ease. 


Thou art descended from Titanic 


Kesolve, and thou art free. But 


race, 


breathe the air 


And hast a Titan's strength and 


Of mountains, and their unap- 


faculties 


proachable summits 


That make thee godlike ; and thou 


Will lift thee to the level of them- 


sittest here 


selves. 


Like Heracles spinning Omphale's 




flax, 


EPIMETHEUS. 


And beaten with her sandals. 


The roar of forests and of water- 




falls, 


EPIMETHEUS. 


The rushing of a mighty wind, 


my brother ! 


with loud 


Thou drivest me to madness with 


And undistinguishable voices call- 


thy taunts. 


ing, 




Are in my ear ! 


PROMETHEUS. 




And me thou drivest to madness 


PROMETHEUS. 


with thy follies. 


Oh, listen and obey. 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



395 



EPIMETHEUS. 

Thou leadest me as a child. I fol- 
low thee. 

They go out. 

CHORUS OF OREADES. 

Centuries old are the mountains ; 
Their foreheads wrinkled and 
rifted 39 i 

Helios crowns hy day, 
Pallid Selene by night ; 
From their bosoms uptossed 
The snows are driven and drifted, 
Like Tithonus' beard 
Streaming dishevelled and white. 

Thunder and tempest of wind 
Their trumpets blow in the vast- 

ness ; 
Phantoms of mist and rain, 400 
Cloud and the shadow of cloud, 
Pass and repass by the gates 
Of their inaccessible fastness ; 
Ever unmoved they stand, 
Solemn, eternal, and proud. 

VOICES OF THE WATERS, 

Flooded by rain and snow 
In their inexhaustible sources, 
Swollen by affluent streams 
Hurrying onward and hurled 
Headlong over the crags, 410 

The impetuous water-courses 
Rush and roar and plunge 
Down to the nethermost world. 

Say, have the solid rocks 
Into streams of silver been melted, 
Flowing over the plains, 
Spreading to lakes tn the fields ? 
Or have the mountains, the giants, 
The ice-helmed, the forest-belted, 
Scattered their arms abroad ; 420 
Flung in the meadows their 
shields ? 

VOICES OF THE WINDS. 

High on their turreted cliffs 
That bolts of thunder have shat- 
tered, 
Storm-winds muster and blow 



Trumpets of terrible breath ; 
Then from the gateways rush, 
And before them routed and scat- 
tered 
Sullen the cloud-rack flies, 
Pale with the pallor of death. 

Onward the hurricane rides, 430 
And flee for shelter the shep- 
herds ; 
White are the frightened leaves, 
Harvests with terror are white ; 
Panic seizes the herds, 
And even the lions and leopards, 
Prowling no longer for prey, 
Crouch in their caverns with 
fright. 

VOICES OF THE FORESTS. 

Guarding the mountains around 
Majestic the forests are standing, 
Bright are their crested helms, 
Dark is their armor of leaves ; 441 
Filled with the breath of freedom 
Each bosom subsiding, expanding, 
Now like the ocean sinks, 
Now like the ocean upheaves. 

Planted firm on the rock, 
With foreheads stern and defiant, 
Loud they shout to the winds, 
Loud to the tempest they call ; 
Naught but Olympian thunders, 
That blasted Titan and Giant, 451 
Them can uproot and o'erthrow, 
Shaking the earth with their fall. 

CHORUS OF OREADES. 

These are the Voices Three 
Of winds and forests and foun- 
tains, 
Voices of earth and of air, 
Murmur and rushing of streams, 
Making together one sound, 
The mysterious voice of the moun- 
tains, 
Waking the sluggard that sleeps, 
Waking the dreamer of dreams. 461 

These are the Voices Three, 
That speak of eudless endeavor, 



396 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



Speak of endurance and strength, 
Triumph and fulness of fame, 
Sounding about the world, 
An inspiration forever, 
Stirring the hearts of men, 
Shaping their end and their aim. 

VII 

THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS 

PANDORA. 

Left to myself I wander as I will, 

And as my fancy leads me, through 

this house, 47 1 

Nor could I ask a dwelling more 

complete 
Were I indeed the Goddess that 

he deems me. 
No mansion of Olympus, framed 

to be 
The habitation of the Immortal 

Gods, 
Can be more beautiful. And this 

is mine, 
And more than this, the love 

wherewith he crowns me. 
As if impelled by powers invisible 
And irresistible, my steps return 
Unto this spacious hall. All corri- 
dors 480 
And passages lead hither, and all 

doors , 
But open into it. Yon mysterious 

chest 
Attracts and fascinates me. 

Would I knew 
What there lies hidden ! But the 

oracle 
Forbids. Ah me ! The secret then 

'is safe. 
So would it be if it were in my 

keeping. 
A crowd of shadowy faces from 

the mirrors 
That line these walls are watching 

me. I dare not 
Lift up the lid. A hundred times 

the act 
Would be repeated, and the secret 

seen 490 



By twice a hundred incorporeal 
eyes. 

She walks to the other side of the 
hall. 

My feet are weary, wandering to 
and fro, 

My eyes with seeing and my heart 
with waiting. 

I will lie here and rest till he re- 
turns, 

Who is my dawn, my day, my 
Helios. 

Throws herself upon a couch, and 
falls asleep. 

ZEPHTRUS. 

Come from thy caverns dark and 

deep, 
O son of Erebus and Night ; 
All sense of hearing and of sight 
Enfold in the serene delight 
And quietude of sleep ! 500 

Set all thy silent sentinels 
To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, 
And keep the evil dreams of fate 
And falsehood and infernal hate 
Imprisoned in their cells. 

But open wide the Gate of Horn, 
Whence, beautiful as planets, rise 
The dreams of truth, with starry 

eyes, 
And all the wondrous prophecies 
And visions of the morn. 510 

CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE 
IVORY GATE. 

Ye sentinels of sleep, 
It is in vain ye keep 
Your drowsy watch before the 
Ivory Gate ; 
Though closed the portal seems, 
The airy feet of dreams 
Ye cannot thus in walls incarcei* 
ate. 

We phantoms are and dreams 
Born by Tartarean streams, 



THE MASQUE OF PANDORA 



397 



As ministers of the infernal pow- 
ers; 
O son of Erebus 520 

And Night, heboid ! we thus 
Elude your watchful warders on 
the towers ! 

From gloomy Tartarus 
The Fates have summoned us 
To whisper in her ear, who lies 
asleep, 
A tale to fan the fire 
Of her insane desire 
To know a secret that the Gods 
would keep. 

This passion, in their ire, 
The Gods themselves inspire, 
To vex mankind with evils mani- 
fold, 531 
So that disease and pain 
O'er the whole earth may reign, 
And nevermore return the Age of 
Gold. 

PANDORA (waking). 
A voice said in my sleep : ' Do not 

delay : 
Do not delay ; the golden moments 

fly! 
The oracle hath forbidden; yet 

not thee 
Doth it forbid, but Epimetheus 

only ! ' 
I am alone. These faces in the 

mirrors 
Are but the shadows and phan- 
toms of myself ; 540 
They cannot help nor hinder. No 

one sees me, 
Save the all - seeing Gods, who, 

knowing good 
And knowing evil, have created 

me 
Such as I am, and filled me with 

desire 
Of knowing good and evil like 

themselves. 

She approaches the cherst. 
I hesitate no longer. Weal or woe, 



Or life or death, the moment shall 
decide. 

She lifts the lid. A dense mist 
rises from the chest, and fills the 
room. Pandora falls senseless 
on the floor. Storm xvithout. 

CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE 
GATE OF HORN. 

Yes, the moment shall decide ! 
It already hath decided ; 
And the secret once confided 550 
To the keeping of the Titan 
Now is flying far and wide, 
Whispered, told on every side, 
To disquiet and to frighten. 

Fever of the heart and brain, 
Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, 
Moans of anguish, maniac laugh- 
ter, 
All the evils that hereafter 
Shall afflict and vex mankind, 
All into the air have risen 560 

From the chambers of their pris- 
on; 
Only Hope remains behind. 



VIII 

IN THE GARDEN 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The storm is past, but it hath left 

behind it 
Buin and desolation. All the 

walks 
Are strewn with shattered boughs ; 

the birds are silent : 
The flowers, downtrodden by the 

wind, lie dead ; 
The swollen rivulet sobs with se- 
cret pain ; 
The melancholy reeds whisper 

together 
As if some dreadful deed had been 

committed 
They dare not name, and all the 

air is heavy 570 



398 THE MASQUE 


OF PANDORA 


With an unspoken sorrow! Pre- 


EPIMETHEUS. 


monitions, 


Mine is the fault, not thine. On 


Foreshaclowings of- some terrible 


me shall fall 


disaster 


The vengeance of the Gods, for I 


Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, 


betrayed 


avert the omen ! 


Their secret when, in evil hour, 




I said 


pandora, coming from the house. 


It was a secret; when, in evil 


Epimetheus, I no longer dare 


hour, 590 


To lift mine eyes to thine, nor heal- 


I left thee here alone to this temp- 


thy voice, 


tation. 


Being no longer worthy of thy love. 


Why did I leave thee ? 


EPIMETHEUS. 


PANDORA. 


What hast thou done ? 


Why didst thou return ? 




Eternal absence would have been 


PANDORA. 


to me 


Forgive me not, but kill me. 


The greatest punishment. To be 




left alone 


EPIMETHEUS. 


And face to face with my own 


What hast thou done ? 


crime, had been 




Just retribution. Upon me, ye 


PANDORA. 


Gods, 


I pray for death, not pardon. 


Let all your vengeance fall ! 


EPIMETHEUS. 


EPIMETHEUS. 


What hast thou done ? 


On thee and me. 




I do not love thee less for what is 


PANDORA. 


done, 


I dare not speak of it. 


And cannot be undone. Thy very 




weakness 


EPIMETHEUS. 


Hath brought thee nearer to me, 


Thy pallor and thy silence terrify 


and henceforth 600 


me ! 580 


My love will have a sense of pity 

in it, 
Making it less a worship than be- 


PANDORA. 


I have brought wrath and ruin on 

thy house ! 
Myheai't hath braved the oracle 


fore. 


PANDORA. 


that guarded 


Pity me not ; pity is degradation. 


The fatal secret from us, and my 


Love me and kill me. 


hand 




Lifted the lid of the mysterious 


EPIMETHEUS. 


chest ! 


Beautiful Pandora! 




Thou art a Goddess still ! 


EPIMETHEUS. 




Then all is lost ! I am indeed un- 


PANDORA. 


done. 


I am a woman ; 




And the insurgent demon in my 


, PANDORA. 


nature, 


I pray for punishment, and not for 


That made me brave the oracla. 


pardon. 


revolts 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



399 



At pity and compassion. Let me 

die; 
What else remains for me ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Youth, hope, and love : 
To build a new life on a ruined 

life, 610 

To make the future fairer than the 

past, 
And make the past appear a 

troubled dream. 
Even now in passing through the 

garden walks 
Upon the ground I saw a fallen 

nest 
Ruined and full of rain ; and over 

me 
Beheld the uncomplaining birds 

already- 
Busy in building a new habitation. 

PANDORA. 

Auspicious omen ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

May the Eumenides 
Put out their torches and behold 

us not, 
And fling away their whips of scor- 
pions 620 
And touch us not. 



PANDORA. 

Me let them punish. 

Only through punishment of our 
3vil deeds, 

Only through suffering, are we 
reconciled 

To the immortal Gods and to our- 
selves. 

CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. 

Never shall souls like these 
Escape the Eumenides, 
The daughters dark of Acheron 
and Night ! 
TJnquenched our torches glare, 
Our scourges in the air 
Send forth prophetic sounds be- 
fore they smite. 630 

Never by lapse of time 
The soul defaced by crime 

Into its former self returns again ; 
For every guilty deed 
Holds in itself the seed 

Of retribution and undying pain. 

Never shall be the loss 
Restored, till Helios 
Hath purified them with his hea- 
venly fires ; 
Then what was lost is won, 
And the new life begun, 641 
Kindled with nobler passions and 
desires. 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



The lights are out, and gone are 
all the guests 

That thronging came with merri- 
ment and jests 
To celebrate the Hanging of the 
Crane 

In the new house, — into the night 
are gone ; 

But still the fire upon the hearth 
burns on, 
And I alone remain. 



fortunate, O happy day, 
When a new household finds its 

place 
Among the myriad homes of 

earth, 
Like a new star just sprung to 

birth, 10 

And rolled on its harmonious 

way 
Into the boundless realms of 

space ! 



400 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



So said the guests in speech and 

song, 
As in the chimney, burning bright, 
We hung the iron crane to-night, 
And merry was the feast and long. 

ii 

And now I sit and mus!e on what 
may be, 

And in my vision see, or seem to 
see, 
Through floating vapors inter- 
fused with light, 

Shapes indeterminate, that gleam 
and fade, 20 

As shadows passing into deeper 
shade 
Sink and elude the sight. 

For two alone, there in the hall, 
Is spread the table round and 

small ; 
Upon the polished silver shine 
The evening lamps, but, more 

divine, 
The light of love shines over all ; 
Of love, that says not mine and 

thine, 
But ours, for ours is thine and 

mine. 

They want no guests, to come 
between 30 

Their tender glances like a 
screen, 

And tell them tales of land and 
sea, 

And whatsoever may betide 

The great, forgotten world out- 
side; 

They want no guests ; they needs 
must be 

Each other's own best company. 

in 

The picture fades ; as at a village 

fair 
A showman's views, dissolving 

into air, 
Again appear transfigured on 

the screen, 



So in my fancy this ; and now once 
more, 40 

In part transfigured, through the 
open door 
Appears the selfsame scene. 

Seated, I see the two again, 

But not alone ; they entertain 

A little angel unaware, 

With face as round as is the 
moon, 

A royal guest with flaxen hair, 

Who, throned upon his lofty 
chair, 

Drums on the table with his 
spoon, 

Then drops it careless on the 
floor, 50 

To grasp at things unseen be- 
fore. 

Are these celestial manners ? 

these 
The ways that win, the arts that 

please ? 
Ah yes ; consider well the guest, 
And whatsoe'er he does seems 

best; 
He ruleth by the right divine 
Of helplessness, so lately born 
In purple chambers of the morn, 
As sovereign over thee and thine. 
He speaketh not; and yet there 

lies 60 

A conversation in his eyes ; 
The golden silence of the Greek, 
The gravest wisdom of the wise, 
Not spoken in language, but in 

looks 
More legible than printed books, 
As if he could but would not 

speak. 
And now, O monarch absolute, 
Thy power is put to proof; for,lo ! 
Resistless, fathomless, and slow; 
The nurse comes rustling like 

the sea, 70 

And pushes back thy chair and 

thee, 
And so good night to King 

Canute. 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



401 



IV 


Again the drifting vapors inter- 


As one who walking in a forest 


vene, 


sees 


And the moon's pallid disk is 


A lovely landscape through the 


hidden quite ; 


parted trees, 


And now I see the table wider 


Then sees it not, for houghs that 


grown, 


intervene ; 


As round a pebble into water 


Or as we see the moon sometimes 


thrown 


revealed 


Dilates a ring of light. 


Through drifting clouds, and then 




again concealed, 


I see the table wider grown, 


So I behold the scene. 


I see it garlanded with guests, 




As if fair Ariadne's Crown 


There are two guests at table 


Out of the sky had fallen down ; 


now ; 


Maidens within whose tender 


The king, deposed and older 


breasts no 


grown, 80 


A thousand restless hopes and 


No longer occupies the throne, — 


fears, 


The crown is on his sister's 


Forth reaching to the coming 


brow; 


years, 


A Princess from the Fairy Isles, 


Flutter awhile, then quiet lie, 


The very pattern girl of girls, 


Like timid birds that fain would 


All covered and embowered in 


fly, 


curls, 


But do not dare to leave their 


Rose-tinted from the Isle of 


nests ; — 


Flowers, 


And youths, who in their strength 


And sailing with soft, silken sails 


elate 


From far-off Dreamland into 


Challenge the van and front of 


ours. 


fate, 


Above their bowls with rims of 


Eager as champions to be 


blue 


In the divine knight-errantry 


Four azure eyes of deeper hue go 


Of youth, that travels sea and 


Are looking, dreamy with de- 


land 120 


light; 


Seeking adventures, or pursues, 


Limpid as planets that emerge 


Through cities, and through 


Above the ocean's rounded verge, 


solitudes 


Soft-shining through the summer 


Frequented by the lyric Muse, 


night. 


The phantom with the beckon- 


Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing 


ing hand, 


see 


That still allures and still eludes. 


Beyond the horizon of their 


sweet illusions of the brain ! 


bowls ; 


sudden thrills of fire and 


Nor care they for the world that 


frost! 


rolls 


The world is bright while ye re- 


With all its freight of troubled 


main, 


souls 


And dark and dead when ye are 


Into the days that are to be. 


lost! 


V 

Again the tossing boughs shut out 


VI 

The meadow-brook, that seemeth 


the scene, 100 


to stand still. 130 



402 



THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 



Quickens its current as it nears 
the mill; 
And so the stream of Time that 
lingereth 
In level places, and so dull ap- 
pears, 
Runs with a swifter current as it 
nears 
The gloomy mills of Death. 

And now, like the magician's 

scroll, 
That in the owner's keeping 

shrinks 
"With every wish he speaks or 

thinks, 
Till the last wish consumes the 

whole, 139 

The table dwindles, and again 
I see the two alone remain. 
The crown of stars is broken in 

parts ; 
Its jewels, brighter than the 

day, 
Have one by one been stolen 

away 
To shine in other homes and 

hearts. 
One is a wanderer now afar 
In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, 
Or sunny regions of Cathay ; 
And one is in the boisterous 

camp 
Mid clink of arms and horses' 

tramp, 150 

And battle's terrible array. 
I see the patient mother read, 
With aching heart, of wrecks 

that float 
Disabled on those seas remote, 
Or of some great heroic deed 
On battle-fields, where thousands 

bleed 
To lift one hero into fame. 
Anxious she bends her graceful 

head 
Above these chronicles of pain, 
And trembles with a secret dread 
Lest there among the drowned 

or slain 161 

She find the one beloved name. 



VII 

After a day of cloud and wind and 

rain 
Sometimes the setting sun breaks 

out again, 
And, touching all the darksome 

woods with light, 
Smiles on the fields, until they 

laugh and sing, 
Then like a ruby from the horizon's 

ring 
Drops down into the night. 

"What see I now ? The night is 

fair, 
The storm of grief, the clouds of 

care, 170 

The wind, the rain, have passed 

away; 
The lamps are lit, the fires burn 

bright, 
The house is full of life and 

light ; 
It is the Golden "Wedding day. 
The guests come thronging in 

once more, 
Quick footsteps sound along the 

floor, 
The trooping children crowd the 

stair, 
And in and out and everywhere 
Flashes along the corridor 
The sunshine of their golden 

hair. 180 

On the round table in the hall 
Another Ariadne's Crown 
Out of the sky hath fallen down ; 
More than one Monarch of th»* 

Moon 
Is drumming with his silver 

spoon ; 
The light of love shines ove* 

all. 

O fortunate, O happy day ! 
The people sing, the people 

say. 
The ancient bridegroom and the 

bride, 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



403 



Smiling contented and serene 190 


As the reflection of a light 


Upon the blithe, bewildering 


Between two burnished mirrors 


scene, 


gleams, 


Behold, well pleased, on every 


Or lamps upon a bridge at night 


side 


Stretch on and on before the 


Their forms and features multi- 


sight, 


plied, 


Till the long vista endless seems. 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



POEM FOR THE FIFTIETH 
ANNIVERSARY OF THE 
CLASS OF 1825 IN BOWDOIN 
COLLEGE 

Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senes- 
cimus annis, 
Et fugiunt freno non remorante 
dies. 

Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi. 

'O Cesar, we who are about to 

die 
Salute you!' was the gladiators' 

cry 
In the arena, standing face to 

face 
With death and with the Roman 

populace. 

O ye familiar scenes, — ye groves 
of pine, 

That once were mine and are no 
longer mine, — 

Thou river, widening through the 
meadows green 

To the vast sea, so near and yet 
unseen, — 

Ye halls, in whose seclusion and 
repose 

Phantoms of fame, like exhala- 
tions, rose 10 

And vanished, — we who are about 
to die, 

Salute you ; earth and air and sea 
and sky, 

And the Imperial Sun that scat- 
ters down 

His sovereign splendors upon 
grove and town. 



Ye do not answer us! ye do not 

hear! 
We are forgotten; and in your 

austere 
And calm indifference, ye little 

care 
Whether we come or go, or whence 

or where. 
What passing generations fill these 

halls, 
What passing voices echo from 

these walls, 20 

Ye heed not; we are only as the 

blast, 
A moment heard, and then forever 

past. 

Not so the teachers who in earlier 
days 

Led our bewildered feet through 
learning's maze ; 

They answer us — alas ! what have 
I said ? 

What greetings come there from 
the voiceless dead? 

What salutation, welcome, or re- 
ply? 

What pressure from the hands 
that lifeless lie ? 

They are no longer here ; they all 
are gone 

Into the land of shadows, — all 
save one. 30 

Honor and reverence, and the good 
repute 

That follows faithful service as its 
fruit, 

Be unto him, whom living we sa- 
lute. 



404 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



The great Italian poet, when he 

made 
His dreadful journey to the realms 

of shade, 
Met there the old instructor of his 

youth, 
And cried in tones of pity and of 

ruth : 
' Oh, never from the memory of my 

heart 
Your dear, paternal image shall 

depart, 
Who while on earth, ere yet by 

death surprised, 40 

Taught me how mortals are im- 
mortalized ; 
How grateful am I for that patient 

care 
All my life long my language shall 

declare.' 

To-day we make the poet's words 
our own, 

And utter them in plaintive under- 
tone; 

Nor to the living only be they said, 

But to the other living called the 
dead, 

Whose dear, paternal images ap- 
pear 

Not wrapped in gloom, but robed 
in sunshine here ; 

Whose simple lives, complete and 
without flaw, 50 

Were part and parcel of great Na- 
ture's law ; 

Who said not to their Lord, as if 
afraid, 

'Here is thy talent in a napkin 
laid,' 

But labored in their sphere, as 
men who live 

In the delight that work alone can 
give. 

Peace be to them; eternal peace 
and rest, 

And the fulfilment of the great 
behest : 

'Ye have been faithful over a few 
things, 

Over ten cities shall ye reign as 
kings.' 



And ye who fill the places we once 

filled, 60 

And follow in the furrows that we 

tilled, 
Young men, whose generous hearts 

are beating high, 
We who are old, and are about to 

die, 
Salute you; hail you; take your 

hands in ours, 
And crown you with our welcome 

as with flowers .' 

How beautiful is youth! how 

bright it gleams 
With its illusions, aspirations, 

dreams ! 
Book of Beginnings, Story without 

End, 
Each maid a heroine, and each 

man a friend ! 
Aladdin's Lamp, and Fortunatus' 

Purse, 70 

That holds the treasures of the 

universe ! 
All possibilities are in its hands, 
No danger daunts it, and no foe 

withstands ; 
In its sublime audacity of faith, 
' Be thou removed ! ' it to the 

mountain saith, 
And with ambitious feet, secure 

and proud, 
Ascends the ladder leaning on the 

cloud ! 

As ancient Priam at the Scsean 

gate 
Sat on the walls of Troy in regal 

state 
With the old men, too old and weak 

to fight, 80 

Chirping like grasshoppers in their 

delight 
To see the embattled hosts, with 

spear and shield, 
Of Trojans and Achaians in the 

field; 
So from the snowy summits of our 

years • 
We see you in the plain, as each 

appears, 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



405 



And question of you ; asking, 

' Who is he 
That towers above the others? 

Which may he 
Atreides, Menelaus, Odysseus, 
Ajax the great, or hold Idome- 

neus ? ' 

Let him not boast who puts his 

armor on 90 

As he who puts it off, the battle 

done. 
Study yourselves ; and most of all 

note well 
Wherein kind Nature meant you 

to excel. 
Not every blossom ripens into 

fruit; 
Minerva, the inventress of the 

flute, 
Flung it aside, when she her face 

surveyed 
Distorted in a fountain as she 

played ; 
The unlucky Marsyas found it, 

and his fate 
Was one to make the bravest hesi- 
tate. 

Write on your doors the saying 
wise and old, 100 

'Be bold! be bold!' and every- 
where ' Be bold ; 

Be not too bold ! ' Yet better the 
excess 

Than the defect ; better the more 
than less ; 

Better like Hector in the field to 
die, 

Than like a perfumed Paris turn 
and fly. 

And now, my classmates; ye re- 
maining few 

That number not the half of those 
we knew, 

Ye, against whose familiar names 
not yet 

The fatal asterisk of death is set, 

Ye I salute ! T' e hqrologe of 
Time \ no 



Strikes the half-century with a 

solemn chime, 
And summons us together once 

again, 
The joy of meeting not unmixed 

with pain. 

Where are the others? Voices 

from the deep 
Caverns of darkness answer me: 

' They sleep ! ' 
I name no names ; instinctively I 

feel 
Each at some well -remembered 

grave will kneel, 
And from the inscription wipe the 

weeds and moss, 
For every heart best knoweth its 

own loss. 
I see their scattered gravestones 

gleaming white 120 

Through the pale dusk of the im- 
pending night ; 
O'er all alike the impartial sunset 

throws 
Its golden lilies mingled with the 

rose; 
We give to each a tender thought, 

and pass 
Out of the graveyards with their 

tangled grass, 
Unto these scenes frequented by 

our feet 
When we were young, and life was 

fresh and sweet. 

What shall I say to you? What 

can I say 
Better than silence is? When I 

survey 
This throng of faces turned to 

meet my own, 130 

Friendly and fair, and yet to me 

unknown, 
Transformed the very landscape 

seems to be ; 
It is the same, yet not the same to 

me. 
So many memories crowd upon my 

brain, 



406 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



So many ghosts are in the wooded 
plain, 

I fain would steal away, with noise- 
less tread, 

As from a house where some one 
lieth dead. 

I cannot go ; — I pause ; — I hesi- 
tate ; 

My feet reluctant linger at the 
gate ; 

As one who struggles in a troubled 
dream 140 

To speak and cannot, to myself I 
seem. 

Vanish the dream! Vanish the 
idle fears ! 

Vanish the rolling mists of fifty 
years ! 

Whatever time or space may in- 
tervene, 

I will not he a stranger in this 
scene. 

Here every doubt, all indecision, 
ends; 

Hail, my companions, comrades, 
classmates, friends ! 

Ah me ! the fifty years since last 

we met 
Seem to me fifty folios bound and 

set 
By Time, the great transcriber, on 

his shelves, 150 

Wherein are written the histories 

of ourselves. 
What tragedies, what comedies, 

are there ; 
What joy and grief, what rapture 

and despair ! 
What chronicles of triumph and 

defeat, 
Of struggle, and temptation, and 

retreat ! 
What records of regrets, and 

doubts, and fears ! 
What pages blotted, blistered by 

our tears ! 
What lovely landscapes on the 

margin shine, 



What sweet, angelic faces, what 

divine 
And holy images of love and trust, 
Undimmed by age, unsoiled by 

damp or dust ! 161 

Whose hand shall dare to open 

and explore 
These volumes, closed and clasped 

forevermore ? 
Not mine. With reverential feet 

I pass ; 
I hear a voice that cries, 'Alas! 

alas! 
Whatever hath been written shall 

remain, 
Nor be erased nor written o'er 

again ; 
The unwritten only still belongs 

to thee ; 
Take heed, and ponder well what 

that shall be.' 



As children frightened by a thun- 
der-cloud 170 

Are reassured if some one reads) 
aloud 

A tale of wonder, with enchant- 
ment fraught, 

Or wild adventure, that diverts 
their thought, 

Let me endeavor with a tale to 
chase 

The gathering shadows of the time 
and place, 

And banish what we all too deeply 
feel 

Wholly to say or wholly to con- 
ceal. 

In mediaeval Rome, I know not 

where, 
There stood an image with its arm 

in air, 
And on its lifted finger, shining 

clear, 180 

A golden ring with the device, 

' Strike here ! ' 
Greatly the people wondered, 

though q ne guessed 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



407 



The meaning that these words hut 
half expressed, 

Until a learned clerk, who at noon- 
day 

With downcast eyes was passing 
on his way, 

Paused, and observed the spot, 
and marked it well, 

Whereon the shadow of the finger 
fell; 

And, coming hack at midnight, 
delved, and found 

A secret stairway leading under- 
ground. 

Down this he passed into a spa- 
cious hall, 190 

Lit by a flaming jewel on the 
wall; 

And opposite, in threatening atti- 
tude, 

With bow and shaft a brazen 
statue stood. 

Upon its forehead, like a coronet, 

Were these mysterious words of 
menace set : 

' That which I am, lam; my fatal 
aim 

None can escape, not even yon 
luminous flame ! ' 

Midway the hall was a fair table 

placed, 
With cloth of gold, and golden 

cups enchased 
With rubies, and the plates and 

knives were gold, 200 

And gold the bread and viands 

manifold. 
Around it, silent, motionless, and 

sad, 
Were seated gallant knights in 

armor clad, 
And ladies beautiful with plume 

and zone, 
But they were stone, their hearts 

within were stone ; 
And the vast hall was filled in 

every part 
With silent crowds, stony in face 

and heart 



Long at the scene, bewildered and 

amazed, 
The trembling clerk in speechless 

wonder gazed ; 
Then from the table, by his greed 

made bold, 210 

He seized a goblet and a knife of 

gold, 
And suddenly from their seats the 

guests upsprang, 
The vaulted ceiling with loud 

clamors rang, 
The archer sped his arrow, at 

their call, 
Shattering the lambent jewel on 

the wall, 
And all was dark around and over- 
head ; — 
Stark on the floor the luckless 

clerk lay dead ! 

The writer of this legend then re- 
cords 
Its ghostly application ( in these 

words: 219 

The image is the Adversary old, 
Whose beckoning finger points to 

realms of gold ; 
Our lusts and passions are the 

downward stair 
That leads the soul from a diviner 

air; 
The archer, Death; the flaming 

jewel, Life ; 
Terrestrial goods, the goblet and 

the knife ; 
The knights and ladies, all whose 

flesh and bone 
By avarice have been hardened 

into stone ; 
The clerk, the scholar whom the 

love of pelf 
Tempts from his books and from 

his nobler self. 

The scholar and the world ! The 
endless strife, 230 

The discord in the harmonies of 
life! 



408 



MORITURI SALUTAMUS 



J 



The love of learning, the seques- 
tered nooks, 

And all the sweet serenity of 
books ; 

The market-place, the eager love 
of gain, 

Whose aim is vanity, and whose 
end is pain! 

But why, you ask me, should this 

tale be told 
To men grown old, or who are 

growing old? 
It is too late ! Ah, nothing is too 

late 
Till the tired heart shall cease to 

palpitate. 
Cato learned Greek at eighty; 

Sophocles 240 

Wrote his grand CEdipus, and 

Simonides 
Bore off the prize of verse from 

his compeers, 
When each had numbered more 

than fourscore years, 
And Theophrastus, at fourscore 

and ten, 
Had but begun his ' Characters of 

Men.' 
Chaucer, at Woodstock with the 

nightingales, 
At sixty wrote the Canterbury 

Tales ; 
Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the 

last, 
Completed Faust when eighty 

years were past. 
These are indeed exceptions ; but 

they show 250 

How far the gulf -stream of our 

youth may flow 
Into the arctic regions of our 

lives, 
Where little else than life itself 

survives. 

As the barometer foretells the 

storm 
While still the skies are clear, the 

weather warm, 



So something in us, as old age 

draws near, 
Betrays the pressure of the at- 
mosphere. 
The nimble mercury, ere we are 

aware, 
Descends the elastic ladder of the 

air; 
The telltale blood in artery and 

vein 26a 

Sinks from its higher levels in the 

brain ; 
Whatever poet, orator, or sage 
May say of it, old age is still old 

age. 
It is the waning, not the crescent 

moon ; 
The dusk of evening, not the blaze 

of noon ; 
It is not strength, but weakness ; 

not desire, 
But its surcease ; not the fierce 

heat of fire, 
The burning and consuming ele- 
ment, 
But that of ashes and of embers 

spent, 
In which some living sparks we 

still discern, 270 

Enough to warm, but not enough 

to burn. 

What then? Shall we sit idly 

down and say 
The night hath come; it is no 

longer day? 
The night hath not yet come ; we 

are not quite 
Cut off from labor by the failing 

light; 
Something remains for us to do or 

dare; 
Even the oldest tree some fruit 

may bear ; 
Not CEdipus Coloneus, or Greek 

Ode, 
Or tales of pilgrims that one morn- 
ing rode 
Out of the gateway of the Tabard 

Inn, 280 



THREE FRIENDS OF MINE 



409 



But other something, would we. 

but begin ; 
For age is opportunity no less 
Than youth itself, though in an- 
other dress, 



And as the evening twilight fades 
away 

The sky is filled with stars, invisi- 
ble by day. 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



THKEE FRIENDS OF MINE 



When" I remember them, those 
friends of mine, 

Who are no longer here, the no- 
ble three, 

Who half my life were more 
than friends to me, 

And whose discourse was like a 
generous wine, 
I most of all remember the divine 

Something, that shone in them, 
and made us see 

The archetypal man, and what 
might be 

The amplitude of Nature's first 
design. 
In vain I stretch my hands to 
clasp their hands ; 

I cannot find them. Nothing 
now is left 

But a majestic memory. They 
meanwhile 
Wander together in Elysian lands, 

Perchance remembering me, who 
am bereft 

Of their dear presence, and, re- 
membering, smile. 



In Attica thy birthplace -should 

have been, 
Or the Ionian Isles, or where 

the seas 
Encircle in their arms the Cy- 

clades, 
So wholly Greek wast thou in 

thy serene 
And childlike joy of life, O Phil- 

hellene ! 



Around thee would have 
swarmed the Attic bees ; 

Homer had been thy friend, or 
Socrates, 

And Plato welcomed thee to his 
demesne. 
For thee old legends breathed his- 
toric breath ; 

Thou sawest Poseidon in the 
purple sea, 

And in the sunset Jason's fleece 
of gold ! 
Oh, what hadst thou to do with 
cruel Death, 

Who wast so full of life, or 
Death with thee, 

That thou shouldst die before 
thou hadst grown old ! 



in 

I stand again on the familiar 
shore, 

And hear the waves of the dis- 
tracted sea 

Piteously calling and lamenting 
thee, 

And waiting restless at thy cot- 
tage door. 
The rocks, the sea-weed on the 
ocean floor, 

The willows in the meadow, and 
the free 

Wild winds of the Atlantic wel- 
come me ; 

Then why shouldst thou be dead, 
and come no more ? 
Ah, why shouldst thou be dead, 
when common men 

Are busy with their trivial 
affairs, 



410 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



Having and holding? Why, 

when thou hadst read 
Nature's mysterious manuscript, 

and then 
"Wast ready to reveal the truth 

it hears, 
Why art thou silent? Why 

shouldst thou he dead? 



River, that stealest with such 

silent pace 
Around the City of the Dead, 

where lies 
A friend who hore thy name, and 

whom these eyes 
Shall see no more in his accus- 
tomed place, 
Linger and fold him in thy soft em- 
brace, 
And say good night, for now the 

western skies 
Are red with sunset, and gray 

mists arise 
Like damps that gather on a 

dead man's face. 
Good night ! good night ! as we so 

oft have said 
Beneath this roof at midnight, 

in the days 
That are no more, and shall no 

more return. 
Thou hast hut taken thy lamp and 

gone to bed ; 
I stay a little longer, as one 

stays 
To cover up the embers that still 

burn. 



The doors are all wide open : at 
the gate 
The blossomed lilacs counterfeit 

a blaze, 
And seem to warm the air; a 

dreamy haze 
Hangs o'er the Brighton mead- 
ows like a fate, 
ind on their margin, with sea-tides 
elate, 



The flooded Charles, as in the 

happier days, 
Writes the last letter of his 

name, and stays 
His restless steps, as if compelled 

to wait. 
I also wait ; but they will come no 

more, 
Those friends of mine, whose 

presence satisfied 
The thirst and hunger of my 

heart. Ah me .' 
They have forgotten the pathway 

to my door ! 
Something is gone from nature 

since they died, 
And summer is not summer, nor 

can be. 



CHAUCER 

An old man in a lodge within a 

park; 
The chamber walls depicted all 

around 
With portraitures of huntsman, 

hawk, and hound, 
And the hurt deer. He listeneth 

to the lark, 
Whose song comes with the sun- 
shine through the dark 
Of painted glass in leaden lattice 

bound ; 
He listeneth and he laugheth at 

the sound, 
Then writeth in a book like any 

clerk. 
He is the poet of the dawn, who 

wrote 
The Canterbury Tales, and his 

old age 
Made beautiful with song; and 

as I read 
I hear the crowing cock, I hear 

the note 
Of lark and linnet, and from 

every page 
Rise odors of ploughed field or 

flowery mead. 



THE GALAXY 



411 



SHAKESPEAEE 

A vision as of crowded city 
streets, 

"With human life in endless over- 
flow; 

Thunder of thoroughfares ; trum- 
pets that blow 

To battle ; clamor, in obscure 
retreats, 
Of sailors landed from their an- 
chored fleets ; 

Tolling of bells in turrets, and 
below 

Voices of children, and bright 
flowers that throw 

O'er garden- walls their intermin- 
gled sweets ! 
This vision comes to me when I 
unfold 

The volume of the Poet para- 
mount, 

Whom all the Muses loved, not 
one alone ; — 
Into his hands they put the lyre of 
gold, 

And, crowned with sacred laurel 
at their fount, 

Placed him as Musagetes on 
their throne. 

MILTON 

I pace the sounding sea-beach and 

behold 
How the voluminous billows roll 

and run, 
Upheaving and subsiding, while 

the sun 
Shines through their sheeted 

emerald far unrolled, 
And the ninth wave, slow gather- 
ing fold by fold 
All its loose-flowing garments 

into one, 
Plunges upon the shore, and 

floods the dun 
Pale reach of sands, and changes 

them to gold. 
60 in majestic cadence rise and 

fall 



The mighty undulations of thy 
song, 

sightless bard, England's 
Mseonides ! 
And ever and anon, high over all 

Uplifted, a ninth wave superb 
and strong, 

Floods all the soul with its me- 
lodious seas. 



KEATS 

The young Endymion sleeps Endy- 

mion's sleep ; 
The shepherd-boy whose tale 

was left half told ! 
The solemn grove uplifts its 

shield of gold 
To the red rising moon, and loud 

and deep 
The nightingale is singing from 

the steep ; 
It is midsummer, but the air is 

cold; 
Can it be death? Alas, beside 

the fold 
A shepherd's pipe lies shattered 

near his sheep. 
Lo ! in the moonlight gleams a 

marble white, 
On which I read : ' Here lieth 

one whose name 
Was writ in water.' And was 

this the meed 
Of his sweet singing? Rather let 

me write : 
'The smoking flax before it 

burst to flame 
Was quenched by death, and 
. broken the bruised reed.' 



THE GALAXY 

Torrent of light and river of the 
air, 

Along whose bed the glimmer- 
ing stars are seen 

Like gold and silver sands in 
some ravine 



412 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



Where mountain streams have 
left their channels bare ! 
The Spaniard sees in thee the 
pathway, where 

His patron saint descended in 
the sheen 

Of his celestial armor, on se- 
rene 

And quiet nights, when all the 
heavens were fair. 
Not this I see, nor yet the ancient 
fable 

Of Phaeton's wild course, that 
scorched the skies 

Where'er the hoofs of his hot 
coursers trod ; 
But the white drift of worlds o'er 
chasms of sable. 

The star-dust, that is whirled 
aloft and flies 

From the invisible chariot- 
wheels of God. 

THE SOUND OF THE SEA 

The sea awoke at midnight from 

its sleep, 
And round the pebbly beaches 

far and wide 
1 heard the first wave of the ris- 
ing tide 
Rush onward with uninterrupted 

sweep ; 
A voice out of the silence of the 

deep, 
A sound mysteriously multiplied 
As of a cataract from the moun- 
tain's side, 
Or roar of winds upon a wooded 

steep. 
So comes to us at times, from the 

unknown 
And inaccessible solitudes of 

being, 
The rushing of the sea-tides of 

the soul ; 
And inspirations, that we deem 

our own, 
Are some divine foreshadowing 

and foreseeing 
Of things beyond our reason or 

control. 



A SUMMER DAY BY THE 
SEA 

The sun is set ; and in his latest 

beams 
Yon little cloud of ashen gray 

and gold, 
Slowly upon the amber air un- 
rolled, 
The falling mantle of the Pro- 
phet seems. 
From the dim headlands many a 

light-house gleams, 
The street-lamps of the ocean; 

and behold, 
O'erhead the banners of the 

night unfold ; 
The day hath passed into the 

land of dreams. 
O summer day beside the joyous 

sea! 
O summer day so wonderful and 

white, 
So full of gladness and so full of 

pain ! 
Forever and forever shalt thou be 
To some the gravestone of a 

dead delight, 
To some the landmark of a new 

domain. 



THE TIDES 

I saw the long line of the vacant 
shore, 

The sea-weed, and the shells 
upon the sand, 

And the brown rocks left bare 
on every hand, 

As if the ebbing tide would flow 
no more. 
Then heard I, more distinctly than 
before, 

The ocean breathe and its great 
breast expand, 

And hurrying came on the de- 
fenceless land 

The insurgent waters with tu- 
multuous roar. 
All thought and feeling and desire, 
I said, 



SLEEP 



4i3 



Love, laughter, and the exultant 


Shot down in skirmish, or disas- 


joy of song 


trous rout 


Have ebbed from me forever ! 


Of battle, when the loud artillery 


Suddenly o'er me 


drave 


They swept again from their deep 


Its iron wedges through the 


ocean bed, 


ranks of brave 


And in a tumult of delight, and 


And doomed battalions, storm- 


strong 


ing the redoubt. 


As youth, and beautiful as youth, 


Thou unknown hero sleeping by 


upbore me. 


the sea 




In thy forgotten grave ! with se- 


A SHADOW 


cret shame 




I feel my pulses beat, my fore 


I said unto myself, if I were dead, 


head burn, 


What would befall these chil- 


When I remember thou hast giver 


dren ? What would be 


forme 


Their fate, who now are looking 


All that thou hadst, thy life, thy 


up to me 


very name, 


For help and furtherance ? Their 


And I can give thee nothing in 


lives, I said, 


return. 


Would be a volume wherein I have 




read 


SLEEP 


But the first chapters, and no 




longer see 


Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whos 


To read the rest of their dear 


fitful sound 


history, 


Seems from some faint iEolian 


So full of beauty and so full of 


harp-string caught ; 


dread. 


Seal up the hundred wakeful 


Be comforted; the world is very 


eyes of thought 


old, 


As Hermes with his lyre in sleep 


And generations pass, as they 


profound 


have passed, 


The hundred wakeful eyes of Ar- 


A troop of shadows moving with 


gus bound ; 


the sun ; 


For I am weary, and am over- 


Thousands of times has the old 


wrought 


tale been told ; 


With too much toil, with too 


The world belongs to those who 


much care distraught, 


come the last, 


And with the iron crown of an- 


They will find hope and strength 


guish crowned. 


as we have done. 


Lay thy soft hand upon my brow 




and cheek, 


A NAMELESS GRAVE 


peaceful Sleep ! until from pain 

released 

1 breathe again uninterrupted 


'A soldier of the Union mus- 


tered out,' 


breath ! 


Is the inscription on an unknown 


Ah, with what subtle meaning did 


grave 


the Greek 


At Newport News, beside the 


Call thee the lesser mystery at 


salt-sea wave, 


the feast 


Nameless and dateless ; sentinel 


Whereof the greater mystery is 


or scout 


death ! 



♦14 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



THE OLD BRIDGE AT 


Io mi rammento quando fur cacci. 


FLORENCE 


ati 




I Medici ; pur quando Ghibellino 


Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am 


E Guelfo fecer pace mi ram- 


old, 


mento. 


Five centuries old. I plant my 


Fiorenza i suoi giojelli m' ha pres- 


foot of stone 


tati; 


Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's 


E quando penso ch' Agnolo il 


own 


divino 


Was planted on the dragon. 


Su me posava, insuperbir mi 


Fold by fold 


sento. 


Beneath me as it struggles, I be- 




i hold 




Its glistening scales. Twice 


NATURE 


hath it overthrown 




My kindred and companions. Me 


As a fond mother, when the day 


alone 


is o'er, 


It moveth not, but is by me con- 


Leads by the hand her little child 


trolled. 


to bed. 


I can remember when the Med- 


Half willing, half reluctant to be 

led, 
And leave his broken playthings 


ici 
Were driven from Florence ; 


longer still ago 


on the floor, 


The final wars of Ghibelline and 


Still gazing at them through the 


Guelf. 


open door, 


Florence adorns me with her jew- 


Nor wholly reassured and com- 


elry; 


forted 


And when I think that Michael 


By promises of others in their 


Angelo 


stead, 


Hath leaned on me, I glory in 


Which, though more splendid, 


myself. 


may not please him more ; 




So Nature deals with us, and takes 




away 




Our playthings one by one, and 


IL PONTE VECCHIO DI 


by the hand 


FIRENZE 


Leads us to rest so gently, that 




we go 


Gaddi mi fece ; il Ponte Vecchio 


Scarce knowing if we wish to go or 


sono; 


stay, 


Cinquecent' anni gia sull' Arno 


Being too full of sleep to under- 


pianto 


stand 


11 piede, come il suo Michele 


How far the unknown tran- 


Santo 


scends the what we know. 


Piant6 sul draco. Mentre ch' io 




ragiono 




Lo vedo torcere con flebil suono 


IN THE CHURCHYARD AT 


Le rilucenti scaglie. Ha questi 


TARRYTOWN 


affranto 




Due volte i miei maggior. Me 


Here lies the gentle humorist, 


solo intanto 


who died 


Neppure muove, ed io non 1' ab- 


In the bright Indian Summer of 


bandono. 


his fame ! 



VENICE 



4i S 



A simple stone, with but a date 
and name, 

Marks his secluded resting-place 
beside 
The river that he loved and glori- 
fied. 

Here in the autumn of his days 
he came, 

But the dry leaves of life were 
all aflame 

"With tints that brightened and 
were multiplied. 
How sweet a life was his; how 
sweet a death ! 

Living, to wing with mirth the 
weary hours, 

Or with romantic tales the heart 
to cheer ; 
Dying, to leave a memory like the 
breath 

Of summers full of sunshine and 
of showers, 

A grief and gladness in the at- 
mosphere. 



ELIOT'S OAK 

Thou ancient oak ! whose myriad 

leaves are loud 
"With sounds of unintelligible 

speech, 
Sounds as of surges on a shingly 

beach, 
Or multitudinous murmurs of a 

crowd ; 
With some mysterious gift of 

tongues endowed, 
Thou speakest a different dialect 

to each ; 
To me a language that no man 

can teach, 
Of a lost race, long vanished like 

a cloud. 
For underneath thy shade, in days 

remote, 
Seated like Abraham at even- 
tide 
Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the 

unknown 
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote 



His Bible in a language that hath 

died 
And is forgotten, save by thee 

alone. 



THE DESCENT OF THE 

MUSES 

Nine sisters, beautiful in form 

and face, 
Came from their convent on the 

shining heights 
Of Pierus, the mountain of de- 
lights, 
To dwell among the people at its 

base. 
Then seemed the world to change. 

All time and space, 
Splendor of cloudless days and, 

starry nights, 
And men and manners, and all 

sounds and sights, 
Had a new meaning, a diviner 

grace. 
Proud were these sisters, but were 

not too proud 
To teach in schools of little 

country towns 
Science and song, and all the 

arts that please ; 
So that while housewives span, 

and farmers ploughed, 
Their comely daughters, clad in 

homespun gowns, 
Learned the sweet songs of the 

Pierides. 



VENICE 

"White swan of cities, slumbering 
in thy nest 

So wonderfully built among the 
reeds 

Of the lagoon, that fences thee 
and feeds, 

As sayeth thy old historian and 
thy guest ! 
"White water-lily, cradled and ca- 
ressed 



416 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



By ocean streams, and from the 


PARKER CLEAVELAND 


silt and weeds 




Lifting thy golden filaments and 


WRITTEN ON REVISITING 


seeds, 


BRUNSWICK IN THE SUMMER 


Thy sun-illumined spires, thy 


OF 1875 


crown and crest ! 


Among the many lives that I have 


White phantom city, whose un- 


known, 


trodden streets 


None I remember more serene 


Are rivers, and whose pave- 


and sweet, 


ments are the shifting 


More rounded in itself and more 


Shadows of palaces and strips of 


complete, 


sky; 


Than his, who lies beneath this 


I wait to see thee vanish like the 


funeral stone. 


fleets 


These pines, that murmur in low 


Seen in mirage, or towers of 


monotone, 


cloud uplifting 


These walks frequented by scho- 


In air their unsubstantial ma- 


lastic feet, 


sonry. 


Were all his world ; but in this 




calm retreat 




For him the Teacher's chair be- 


THE POETS 


came a throne. 




With fond affection memory loves 


ye dead Poets, who are living 


to dwell 


still 


On the old days, when his ex- 


Immortal in your verse, though 


ample made 


life be fled, 


A pastime of the toil of tongue 


And ye, living Poets, who are 


and pen ; 


dead 


And now, amid the groves he loved 


Though ye are living, if neglect 


so well 


can kill, 


That naught could lure him from 


Tell me if in the darkest hours of 


their grateful shade, 


ill, 


He sleeps, but wakes elsewhere, 


With drops of anguish falling 


for God hath said, Amen ! 


fast and red 




From the sharp crown of thorns 




upon your head, 




Ye were not glad your errand to 


THE HARVEST MOON 


fulfil ? 




Yes ; for the gift and ministry of 


It is the Harvest Moon! On 


Song 


gilded vanes 


Have something in them so di- 


And roofs of villages, on wood- 


vinely sweet, 


land crests 


It can assuage the bitterness of 


And their aerial neighborhoods 


wrong ; 


of nests 


Not in the clamor of the crowded 


Deserted, on the curtained win- 


street, 


dow-panes 


Not in the shouts and plaudits 


Of rooms where children sleep, on 


of the throng, 


country lanes 


But in ourselves, are triumph 


And harvest-fields, its mystic 


and defeat. 


splendor rests 1 



THE TWO RIVERS 



417 



Gone are the birds that were our 
summer guests ; 

With the last sheaves return the 
laboring wains ! 
All things are symbols : the exter- 
nal shows 

Of Nature have their image in 
the mind, 

As flowers and fruits and falling 
of the leaves ; 
The song-birds leave us at the 
summer's close, 

Only the empty nests are left be- 
hind, 

And pipings of the quail among 
the sheaves. 



TO THE RIVER RHONE 

Thou Royal River, born of sun 

and shower 
In chambers purple with the Al- 
pine glow, 
Wrapped in the spotless ermine 

of the snow 
And rocked by tempests! — at 

the appointed hour 
Forth, like a steel-clad horseman 

from a tower, 
With clang and clink of harness 

dost thou go 
To meet thy vassal torrents, 

that below 
Rush to receive thee and obey 

thy power. 
And now thou movest in triumphal 

march, 
A king among the rivers! On 

thy way 
A hundred towns await and wel- 
come thee ; 
Bridges uplift for thee the stately 

arch, 
Vineyards encircle thee with 

garlands gay, 
And fleets attend thy progress 

to the sea ! 



THE THREE SILENCES OF 
MOLINOS 

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Three Silences there are: the 

first of speech, 
The second of desire, the third 

of thought ; 
This is the lore a Spanish monk, 

distraught 
With dreams and visions, was 

the first to teach. 
These Silences, commingling each 

with each, 
Made up the perfect Silence that 

he sought 
And prayed for, and wherein at 

times he caught 
Mysterious sounds from realms 

beyond our reach. 
O thou, whose daily life anticipates 
The life to come, and in whose 

thought and word 
The spiritual world preponder- 
ates, 
Hermit of Amesbury! thou too 

hast heard 
Voices and melodies from be- 
yond the gates, 
And speakest only when thy 

soul is stirred ! 



THE TWO RIVERS 



Slowly the hour-hand of the 

clock moves round ; 
So slowly that no human eye 

hath power 
To see it move ! Slowly in shine 

or shower 
The painted ship above it, home- 
ward bound, 
Sails, but seems motionless, as if 

aground ; 
Yet both arrive at last; and in 

his tower 
The slumberous watchman 

wakes and strikes the hour, 



4i* 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



A mellow, measured, melancholy 


Thy voice with other voices far 


sound. 


away. 


Midnight! the outpost of advan- 


I called to thee, and yet thou 


cing day ! 


wouldst not stay, 


The frontier town and citadel of 


But turbulent, and with thyself 


night ! 


contending, 


The watershed of Time, from 


And torrent-like thy force on 


which the streams 


pebbles spending, 


Of Yesterday and To-morrow take 


Thou wouldst not listen to a 


their way, 


poet's lay. 


One to the land of promise and 


Thoughts, like a loud and sudden 


of light, 


rush of wings, 


One to the land of darkness and 


Regrets and recollections of 


of dreams ! 


thing 5 past, 




With hints and prophecies of 


ii 


things to be, 


River of Yesterday, with current 


And inspirations, which, could 


swift 


they be things, 


Through chasms descending, and 


And stay with us, and we could 


soon lost to sight, 


hold them fast, 


I do not care to follow in their 


Were our good angels,— these I 


flight 


owe to thee. 


The faded leaves, that on thy 




bosom drift ! 


IV 


Eiver of To-morrow, I uplift 


And thou, River of To-morrow, 


Mine eyes, and thee I follow, as 


flowing 


the night- 


Between thy narrow adamantine 


Wanes into morning, and the 


walls, 


dawning light 


But beautiful, and white with 


Broadens, and all the shadows 


waterfalls, 


fade and shift ! 


And wreaths of mist, like hands 


I follow, follow, where thy waters 


the pathway showing ; 


run 


I hear the trumpets of the morn- 


Through unfrequented, unfa- 


ing blowing, 


miliar fields, 


I hear thy mighty voice, that 


Fragrant with flowers and musi- 


calls and calls, 


cal with song ; 


And see, as Ossian saw in Mor- 


Still follow, follow; sure to meet 


ven's halls, 


the sun, 


Mysterious phantoms, coming, 


And confident, that what the 


beckoning, going ! 


future yields 


It is the mystery of the unknown 


Will be the right, unless myself 


That fascinates us ; we are 


be wrong. 


children still, 




Wayward and wistful; with one 


in 


hand we cling 


Yet not in vain, River of Yester- 


To the familiar things we call our 


day, 


own, 


Through chasms of darkness to 


And with the other, resolute of 


the deep descending, 


will, 


I heard thee sobbing in the rain, 


Grope in the dark for what the 


and blending 


day will bring. 



WOODSTOCK PARK 



419 



BOSTON 


Lessons of love and light, but 




these expanding 


St. Botolph's Town! Hither 


And sheltering boughs with all 


across the plains 


their leaves implore, 


And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb 


And say in language clear as hu- 


austere, 


man speech, 


There came a Saxon monk, and 


4 The peace of God, that passeth 


founded here 


understanding, 


A Priory, pillaged by marauding 


Be and abide with you forever- 


Danes, 


more ! ' 


So that thereof no vestige now 




remains ; 


MOODS 


Only a name, that, spoken loud 




and clear, 


Oh that a Song would sing itself 


And echoed in another hemi- 


to me 


sphere, 


Out of the heart of Nature, or 


Survives the sculptured walls 


the heart 


and painted panes. 


Of man, the child of Nature, not 


St. Botolph's Town ! Far over 


of Art, 


leagues of land 


Fresh as the morning, salt as 


And leagues of sea looks forth 


the salt sea, 


its noble tower, 


With just enough of bitterness to 


And far around the chiming bells 


be 


are heard ; 


A medicine to this sluggish 


So may that sacred name forever 


mood, and start 


stand 


The life-blood in my veins, and 


A landmark, and a symbol of the 


so impart 


power, 


Healing and help in this dull 


That lies concentred in a single 


lethargy ! 


word. 


Alas ! not always doth the breath 




of song 




Breathe on us. It is like the 


ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE 


wind that bloweth 


V 


At its own will, not ours, nor 


I stand beneath the tree, whose 


tarrieth long ; 


branches shade 


We hear the sound thereof, but no 


Thy western window, Chapel of 


man knoweth 


St. John ! 


From whence it comes, so sudden 


And hear its leaves repeat their 


and swift and strong, 


benison 


Nor whither in its wayward 


On him, whose hand thy stones 


course it goeth. 


memorial laid ; 




Then I remember one of whom 




was said • 


WOODSTOCK PAEK 


In the world's darkest hour, 




' Behold thy son ! ' 


Here in a little rustic hermitage 


And see him living still, and 


Alfred the Saxon King, Alfred 


wandering on 


the Great, 


And waiting for the advent long 


Postponed the cares of king-craft 


delayed. 


to translate 


Not only tongues of the apostles 


The Consolations of the Roman 


teach 


sage. 



420 



A BOOK OF SONNETS 



Here Geoffrey Chaucer in his ripe 

old age 
"Wrote the unrivalled Tales, 

which soon or late 
The venturous hand that strives 

to imitate 
Vanquished must fall on the un- 
finished page. 
Two kings were they, who ruled 

by right divine, 
And both supreme; one in the 

realm of Truth, 
One in the realm of Fiction and 

of Song. 
"What prince hereditary of their 

line, 
Uprising in the strength and 

flush of youth, 
Their glory shall inherit and 

prolong ? 



THE FOUR PRINCESSES AT 
WILNA 

A PHOTOGRAPH 

Sweet faces, that from pictured 

casements lean 
As from a castle window, look- 
ing down 
On some gay pageant passing 

through a town, 
Yourselves the fairest figures in 

the scene ; 
With what a gentle grace, with 

what serene 
Unconsciousness ye wear the 

triple crown 
Of youth and beauty and the 

fair renown 
Of a great name, that ne'er hath 

tarnished been ! 
From your soft eyes, so innocent 

and sweet, 
Four spirits, sweet and innocent 

as they, 
Gaze on the world below, the sky 

above ; 
Hark! there is some one singing 

in the street ; 



'Faith, Hope, and Love! these 
three,' he seems to say ; 
• These three ; and greatest of the 
three is Love.' 



HOLIDAYS 

The holiest of all holidays are 

those 
Kept by ourselves in silence and 

apart ; 
The secret anniversaries of the 

heart, 
"When the full river of feeling 

overflows ; — 
The happy days unclouded to their 

close ; 
The sudden joys that out of 

darkness start 
As flames from ashes ; swift 

desires that dart 
Like swallows singing down 

each wind that blows ! 
White as the gleam of a receding 

sail, 
White as a cloud that floats and 

fades in air, 
White as the whitest lily on a 

stream, 
These tender memories are; — a 

fairy tale 
Of some enchanted, land we know 

not where, 
But lovely as a landscape in a 

dream. 



WAPENTAKE 

TO ALFRED TENNYSON 

Poet ! I come to touch thy lance 

with mine ; 
Not as a knight, who on the 

listed field 
Of tourney touched his adver. 

sary's shield 
In token of defiance, but in 

sign 



THE CROSS OF SNOW 



421 



Of homage to the mastery, which 


A broken oar ; and carved there- 


is thine, 


on he read : 


In English song ; nor will I keep 


4 Oft was I weary, when I toiled 


concealed, 


at thee ; ' 


And voiceless as a rivulet frost- 


And like a man, who findeth what 


congealed, 


was lost, 


My admiration for thy verse di- 


He wrote the words, then lifted 


vine. 


up his head, 


Not of the howling dervishes of 


And flung his useless pen into 


song, 


the sea. 


"Who craze the brain with their 




delirious dance, 




Art thou, sweet historian of 


THE CROSS OF SNOW 


the heart ! 




Therefore to thee the laurel-leaves 


In the long, sleepless watches of 


belong, 


the night, 


To thee our love and our alle- 


A gentle face — the face of one 


giance, 


long dead — 


For thy allegiance to the poet's 


Looks at me from the wall, 


art. 


where round its head 




The night-lamp casts a halo of 




pale light. 


THE BROKEN OAR 


Here in this room she died ; and 




soul more white 


Once upon Iceland's solitary 


Never through martyrdom of fire 


strand 


was led 


A poet wandered with his book 


To its repose ; nor can in books 


and pen, 


be read 


Seeking some final word, some 


The legend of a life more bene- 


sweet Amen, 


dight. 


Wherewith to close the volume 


There is a mountain in the distant 


in his hand. 


West 


The billows rolled and plunged 


That, sun-defying, in its deep ra- 


upon the sand, 


vines 


The circling sea-gulls swept be- 


Displays a cross of snow upon 


yond his ken, 


its side. 


And from the parting cloud-rack 


Such is the cross I wear upon my 


now and then 


breast 


Flashed the red sunset over sea 


These eighteen years, through 


and land. 


all the changing scenes 


Then by the billows at his feet 


And seasons, changeless since 


was tossed 


the day she died. 



422 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

FLIGHT THE FOURTH 



CHAELES SUMNER 

Garlands upon his grave 
And flowers upon his hearse, 
And to the tender heart and brave 
The tribute of this verse. 

His was the troubled life, 
The conflict and the pain, 
The grief, the bitterness of strife, 
The honor without stain. 

Like Winkelried, he took 
Into his manly breast 
The sheaf of hostile spears, and 
broke 
A path for the oppressed. 



Then from the fatal field 
Upon a nation's heart 
Borne like a warrior on 
shield ! — 
So should the brave depart. 



his 



Death takes us by surprise, 
And stays our hurrying feet ; 
The great design unfinished lies, 
Our lives are incomplete. 

But in the dark unknown 
Perfect their circles seem, 
Even as a bridge's arch of stone 
Is rounded in the stream. 

Alike are life and death, 
When life in death survives, 
And the uninterrupted breath 
Inspires a thousand lives. 

Were a star quenched on high, 
For ages would its light, 
Still travelling downward from the 
sky, 
Shine on our mortal sight. 



So when a great man dies, 
For years beyond our ken, 
The light he leaves behind him lies 
Upon the paths of men. 



TEAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE 

The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 
And yonder gilded vane, 

Immovable for three days past, 
Points to the misty main. 

It drives me in upon myself 
And to the fireside gleams, 

To pleasant books that crowd my 
shelf, 
And still more pleasant dreams. 

I read whatever bards have sung 
Of lands beyond the sea, 

And the bright days when I was 
young 
Come thronging back to me. 

In fancy I can hear again 
The Alpine torrent's roar, 

The mule -bells on the hills of 
Spain, 
The sea at Elsinore. 

I see the convent's gleaming wall 
Rise from its groves of pine, 

And towers of old cathedrals tall, 
And castles by the Ehine. 

I journey on by park and spire, 
Beneath centennial trees, 

Through fields with poppies all on 
fire. 
And gleams of distant seas. 

I fear no more the dnst and heat, 
No more I feel fatigue, 



MONTE CASSINO 



423 



"While journeying with another's 
feet 
O'er many a lengthening league. 

Let others traverse sea and land, 
And toil through various climes, 

I turn the world round with my 
hand 
Reading these poets' rhymes. 

From them I learn whatever lies 
Beneath each changing zone, 

And see, when looking with their 
eyes, 
Better than with mine own. 



CADENABBIA 

LAKE OF COMO 

No sound of wheels or hoof-heat 
hreaks 

The silence of the summer day, 
As by the loveliest of all lakes 

I while the idle hours away. 

I pace the leafy colonnade, 
Where level branches of the 
plane 

Above me weave a roof of shade 
Impervious to the sun and rain. 

At times a sudden rush of air 
Flutters the lazy leaves o'er- 
head, 
And gleams of sunshine toss and 
flare 
Like torches down the path I 
tread. 

By Somariva's garden H <ite 
I make the marble stairs my 
seat, 
And hear the water, as I wait, 
Lapping the steps beneath my 
feet. 

The undulation sinks and swells 
Along the stony parapets, 

And far away the floating bells 
Tinkle upon the fisher's nets. 



Silent and slow, by tower and 
town 
The freighted barges come and 
go, 
Their pendent shadows gliding 
down 
By town and tower submerged 
below. 

The hills sweep upward from the 
shore, 
With villas scattered one by 
one 
Upon their wooded spurs, and 
lower 
Bellaggio blazing in the sun. 

And dimly seen, a tangled mass 
Of walls and woods, of light and 
shade, 
Stands, beckoning up the Stelvio 
Pass, 
Varenna with its white cascade. 

I ask myself, Is this a dream ? 

Will it all vanish into air ? 
Is there a land of such supreme . 

And perfect beauty anywhere ? 

Sweet vision ! Do not fade away : 
Linger, until my heart shall take 

Into itself the summer day, 
And all the beauty of the lake ; 

Linger, until upon my brain 
Is stamped an image of the 
scene ; 
Then fade into the air again, 
And be as if thou hadst not 
been. 



MONTE CASSINO 

TERRA DI LAVORO 

Beautiful valley ! through whose 
verdant meads 
Unheard the Garigliano glides 
along ; — 



424 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



The Liris, nurse of rushes and of 


That pauses on a mountain sum- 


reeds, 


mit high, 


The river taciturn of classic 


Monte Cassino's convent rears its 


song. 


proud 




And venerable walls against the 


The Land of Labor and the Land 


sky. 


of Best, 




Where mediaeval towns are white 


Well I remember how on foot I 


on all 


climbed 


The hillsides, and where every 


The stony pathway leading to 


mountain's crest 


its gate ; 30 


Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall. 


Above, the convent bells for ves- 




pers chimed, 


There is Alagna, where Pope Boni- 


Below, the darkening town grew 


face 


desolate. 


Was dragged with contumely 




from his throne ; 10 


Well I remember the low arch and 


Sciarra Colonna, was that day's 


dark, 


disgrace 


The courtyard with its well, the 


The Pontiff's only, or in part 


terrace wide, 


thine own ? 


From which, far down, the valley 




like a park, 


There is Ceprano, where a rene- 


Veiled in the evening mists, was 


gade 


dim descried. 


Was each Apulian, as great 




Dante saith, 


The day was dying, and with fee* 


When Manfred by his men-at-arms 


ble hands 


betrayed 


Caressed the mountain-tops ; the 


Spurred on to Benevento and to 


vales between 


death. 


Darkened; the river in the mea- 




dow-lands 


There is Aquinum, the old Vol- 


Sheathed itself as a sword, and 


scian town, 


was not seen. 40 


Where Juvenal was born, whose 




lurid light 


The silence of the place was like 


Still hovers o'er his birthplace like 


a sleep, 


the crown 


So full of rest it seemed; each 


Of splendor seen o'er cities in 


passing tread 


the night. 20 


Was a reverberation from the 




deep 


Doubled the splendor is, that in 


Recesses of the ages that are 


its streets 


dead. 


The Angelic Doctor as a school- 




boy played, 


For, more than thirteen centuries 


And dreamed perhaps the dreams, 


ago, 


that he repeats 


Benedict fleeing from the gates 


In ponderous folios for scholas- 


of Rome, 


tics made. 


A youth disgusted with its vice 


y 


and woe, 


And there, uplifted, like a passing 


Sought in these mountain sohV 


cloud 


tudes a home. 



AMALFI 



425 



He founded here his Convent and 


Gray mists were rolling, rising, 


his Rule 


vanishing ; 


Of prayer and work, and counted 


The woodlands glistened with 


work as prayer ; 50 


their jewelled crowns ; 


The pen became a clarion, and his 


Far off the mellow bells began to 


school 


ring 


Flamed like a beacon in the mid- 


For matins in the half -a wakened 


night air. 


towns. 


What though Boccaccio, in his 


The conflict of the Present and the 


reckless way, 


Past, 


Mocking the lazy brotherhood, 


The ideal and the actual in our 


deplores 


life, 


The illuminated manuscripts, that 


As on a field of battle held me fast, 


lay 


Where this world and the next 


Torn and neglected on the dusty 


world were at strife. 80 


floors ? 






For, as the valley from its sleep 


Boccaccio was a novelist, a child 


awoke, 


Of fancy and of fiction at the 


I saw the iron horses of the 


best! 


steam 


This the urbane librarian said, and 


Toss to the morning air their 


smiled 


plumes of smoke, 


Incredulous, as at some idle 


And woke, as one awaketh from 


jest. 60 


a dream. 


Upon such themes as these, with 




one young friar 


AMALFI 


I sat conversing late into the 




night, 


Sweet the memory is to me 


Till ki its cavernous chimney the 


Of a land beyond the sea, 


wood-fire 


Where the waves and mountains 


Had burnt its heart out like an 


meet, 


anchorite. 


Where amid her mulberry-trees 




Sits Amain in the heat, 


And then translated, in my con- 


Bathing ever her white feet 


vent cell, 


In the tideless summer seas. 


Myself yet not myself, in dreams 




Hay, 


In the middle of the town, 


And, as a monk who hears the 


From its fountains in the hills, 


matin bell, 


Tumbling through the narrow 


Started from sleep ; — already it 


gorge, 10 


was day. 


The Canneto rushes down, 




Turns the great wheels of the 


From the high window I beheld 


mills, 


the scene 


Lifts the hammers of the forge. 


On which Saint Benedict so oft 




had gazed, — 7 o 


'T is a stairway, not a street, 


the mountains and the valley in 


That ascends the deep ravine, 


the sheen 


Where the torrent leaps between 


Of the bright sun, — and stood 


Rocky walls that almost meet. 


as one amazed. 


Toiling up from stair to stair 



426 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Peasant girls their burdens bear ; 
Sunburnt daughters of the soil, 20 
Stately figures tall and straight, 
What inexorable fate 
Dooms them to this life of toil ? 

Lord of vineyards and of lands, 
Far above the convent stands. 
On its terraced walk aloof 
Leans a monk with folded hands. 
Placid, satisfied, serene, 
Looking down upon the scene 
Over wall and red-tiled roof ; 30 
"Wondering unto what good end 
All this toil and traffic tend, 
And why all men cannot be 
Free from care and free from pain, 
And the sordid love of gain, 
And as indolent as he. 

Where are now the freighted barks 
From the marts of east and west? 
Where the knights in iron sarks 
Journeying to the Holy Land, 40 
Glove of steel upon the hand, 
Cross of crimson on the breast? 
Where the pomp of camp and 

court ? 
Where the pilgrims with their 

prayers ? 
Where the merchants with their 

wares, 
And their gallant brigantines 
Sailing safely into port 
Chased by corsair Algerines ? 

Vanished like a fleet of cloud, 
Like a passing trumpet-blast, 50 
Are those splendors of the past, 
And the commerce and the crowd ! 
Fathoms deep beneath the seas 
Lie the ancient wharves and quays, 
Swallowed by the engulfing waves ; 
Silent streets and vacant halls, 
Euined roofs and towers and walls ; 
Hidden from all mortal eyes 
Deep the sunken city lies : 
Even cities have their graves ! 60 

This is an enchanted land ! 
Bound the headlands far away 



Sweeps the blue Salernian bay 
With its sickle of white sand : 
Further still and furthermost 
On the dim discovered coast 
Psestum with its ruins lies, 
And its roses all in bloom 
Seem to tinge the fatal skies 
Of that lonely land of doom. 70 

On his terrace, high in air, 
Nothing doth the good monk care 
For such worldly themes as these. 
From the garden just below 
Little puffs of perfume blow, 
And a sound is in his ears 
Of the murmur of the bees 
In the shining chestnut trees ; 
Nothing else he heeds or hears. 
All the landscape seems to 
swoon 80 

In the happy afternoon ; 
Slowly o'er his senses creep 
The encroaching waves of sleep, 
And he sinks as sank the town, 
Unresisting, fathoms down, 
Into caverns cool and deep I 

Walled about with drifts of snow, 
Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, 
Seeing all the landscape white 
And the river cased in ice, ' 90 
Comes this memory of delight, 
Comes this vision unto me 
Of a long-lost Paradise 
In the land beyond the sea. 



THE SERMON OF ST. FRAN- 
CIS 

Up soared the lark into the air, 
A shaft of song, a winged prayer, 
As if a soul released from pain 
Were flying back to heaven again. 

St. Francis heard : it was to him 
An emblem of the Seraphim ; 
The upward motion of the fire, 
The light, the heat, the heart's d© 
sire. 



BELISARIUS 



427 



Around Assisi's convent gate 

The birds, God's poor who cannot 
wait, 

From moor and mere aDd dark- 
some wood 

Come nocking for their dole of 
food. 

' brother birds,' St. Francis said, 
1 Ye come to me and ask for bread, 
But not with bread alone to-day 
Shall ye be fed and sent away. 

4 Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, 
With manna of celestial words ; 
Not mine, though mine they seem 

to be, 
Not mine, though they be spoken 

through me. 

4 Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise 
The great Creator in your lays ; 
He giveth you your plumes of 

down, 
Your crimson hoods, your cloaks 

of brown. 

4 He giveth you your wings to fly 
And breathe a purer air on high, 
And careth for you everywhere, 
"Who for yourselves so little care l 

With flutter of swift wings and 

songs 
Together rose the feathered 

throngs, 
And singing scattered far apart ; 
Deep peace was in St. Francis' 

heart. 

He knew not if the brotherhood 
His homily had understood ; 
He only knew that to one ear 
The meaning of his words was 
clear. 

BELISARIUS 

I am poor and old and blind ; 
The sun burns me, and the wind 
Blows through the city gate, 



And covers me with dust 
From the wheels of the august 
Justinian the Great. 

It was for him I chased 

The Persians o'er wild and waste< 

As General of the East ; 
Night after night I lay 
In their camps of yesterday ; 

Their forage was my feast. 

For him, with sails of red, 
And torches at mast-head, 

Piloting the great fleet, 
I swept the Afric coasts 
And scattered the Vandal hosts, 

Like dust in a windy street. 

For him I won again 

The Ausonian realm and reign, 

Rome and Parthenope ; 
And all the land was mine 
From the summits of Apennine 

To the shores of either sea. 

For him, in my feeble age, 
I dared the battle's rage, 

To save Byzantium's state, 
When the tents of Zabergan 
Like snow-drifts overran 

The road to the Golden Gate. 

And for this, for this, behold ! 
Infirm and blind and old, 

With gray, uncovered head, 
Beneath the very arch 
Of my triumphal march, 

I stand and beg my bread ! 

Methinks I still can hear, 
Sounding distinct and near, 

The Vandal monarch's cry, 
As, captive and disgraced, 
With majestic step he paced, — 

' All, all is Vanitv ! ' 

Ah ! vainest of all things 
Is the gratitude of kings ; 

The plaudits of the crowd 
Are but the clatter of feet 



428 



KERAMOS 



At midnight in the street, 

Hollow and restless and loud. 

But the bitterest disgrace 
Is to see forever the face 
Of the Monk of Ephesus ! 
The unconquerable will 
This, too, can bear ; — I still 
Am Belisarius ! 



SONGO RIVER 

Nowhere such a devious stream, 
Save in fancy or in dream, 
Winding slow through bush and 

brake, 
Links together lake and lake. 

Walled with woods or sandy shelf, 

Ever doubling on itself 

Flows the stream, so still and 

slow 
That it hardly seems to flow. 

Never errant knight of old, 
Lost in woodland or on wold, 
Such a winding path pursued 
Through the sylvan solitude. 

Never school-boy, in his quest 
After hazel-nut or nest, 
Through the forest in and out 
Wandered loitering thus about. 



In the mirror of its tide 
Tangled thickets on each side 
Hang inverted, and between 
Floating cloud or sky serene. 

Swift or swallow on the wing 
Seems the only living thing, 
Or the loon, that laughs and flies 
Down to those reflected skies. 

Silent stream ! thy Indian name 
Unfamiliar is to fame ; 
For thou hidest here alone, 
Well content to be unknown. 

But thy tranquil waters teach 
Wisdom deep as human speech, 
Moving without haste or noise 
In unbroken equipoise. 

Though thou turnest no busy mill. 
And art ever calm and still, 
Even thy silence seems to say 
To the traveller on his way : — 

' Traveller, hurrying from the heat 
Of the city, stay thy feet ! 
Rest awhile, nor longer waste 
Life with inconsiderate haste I 

' Be not like a stream that brawls 
Loud with shallow waterfalls, 
But in quiet self-control 
Link together soul and soul.' 



KERAMOS 



KERAMOS 

Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn 

round and round 
Without a pause, without a sound: 
So spins the flying world 

away ! 
This clay, well mixed with marl 

and sand, 
Follows the motion of my hand ; 
For some must follow, and some 

command, 
Though all are made of clay .' 



Thus sang the Potter at his task 

Beneath the blossoming hawthorn- 
tree, 

While o'er his features, like a 
mask, 10 

The quilted sunshine and leaf- 
shade 

Moved, as the boughs above him 
swayed, 

And clothed him, till he seemed to 
be 

A figure woven in tapestry, 

So sumptuously was he arrayed 



KERAMOS 



429 



In that magnificent attire 
Of sable tissue flaked with fire. 
Like a magician he appeared, 
A conjurer without book or beard ; 
And while he plied his magic 
art — 20 

For it was magical to me — 
I stood in silence and apart, 
And wondered more and more to 

see 
That shapeless, lifeless mass of 

clay 
Rise up to meet the master's hand, 
And now contract and now ex- 
pand, 
And even his slightest touch obey ; 
While ever in a thoughtful mood 
He sang his ditty, and at times 
Whistled a tune between the 
rhymes, 30 

As a melodious interlude. 

Turn, turn, my wheel ! All things 

must change 
To something new, to something 

strange ; 
Nothing that is can pause or 

stay ; 
The moon will wax, the moon will 

wane, 
The mist and cloud xvill turn to 

rain, 
The rain to mist and cloud again, 
To-morrow be to-day. 

Thus still the Potter sang, and still, 
By some unconscious act of will, 40 
The melody and even the words 
Were intermingled with my 

thought, 
As bits of colored thread are 

caught 
And woven into nests of birds. 
And thus to regions far remote, 
Beyond the ocean's vast expanse, 
This wizard in the motley coat 
Transported me on wings of song, 
A.nd by the northern shores of 

France 
Bore me with restless speed 

along. so 



What land is this that seems to be 
A mingling of the land and sea?_ 
This land of sluices, dikes, and 

dunes ? 
This water-net, that tessellates 
The landscape ? this unending 

maze 
Of gardens, through whose latticed 

gates 
The imprisoned pinks and tulips 

gaze ; 
Where in long summer afternoons 
The sunshine, softened by the haze, 
Comes streaming down as through 

a screen ; 60 

Where over fields and pastures 

green 
The painted ships float high in air, 
And over all and everywhere 
The sails of windmills sink and 

soar 
Like wings of sea-gulls on the 

shore ? 

What land is this? Yon pretty 
town 

Is Delft, with all its wares dis- 
played ; 

The pride, the market-place, the 
crown 

And centre of the Potter's trade. 

See ! every house and room is 
bright 70 

With glimmers of reflected light 

From plates that on the dresser 
shine ; 

Flagons to foam with Flemish 
beer, 

Or sparkle with the Rhenish wine, 

And pilgrim flasks with fleurs-de- 
lis, 

And ships upon a rolling sea, 

And tankards pewter topped, and 
queer 

With comic mask and musketeer ! 

Each hospitable chimney smiles 

A welcome from its painted 
tiles ; 80 

The parlor walls, the chamber 
floors, 

The stairways and the corridors, 



430 



K^RAMOS 



The borders of the garden walks, 
Are beautiful with fadeless flowers. 
That never droop in winds or 

showers, 
And never wither on their stalks. 

Turn, turn, my wheel ! All life is 
brief; 

What now is bud will soon be leaf, 
What now is leaf will soon de- 
cay ; 

The wind blows east, the wind 
blows west ; 90 

The blue eggs in the robin's nest 

Will soon have wings and beak 
and breast, 
And flutter and fly away. 

Now southward through the air I 

glide, 
The song my only pursuivant, 
And see across the landscape wide 
The blue Charente, upon whose 

tide 
The belfries and the spires of 

Saintes 
Ripple and rock from side to side, 
As, when an earthquake rends its 

walls, 100 

A crumbling city reels and falls. 

Who is it in the suburbs here, 
This Potter, working with such 

cheer, 
In this mean house, this mean at- 
tire, 
His manly features bronzed with 

fire, 
Whose flgulines and rustic wares 
Scarce find him bread from day to 

day? 
This madman, as the people say, 
Who breaks his tables and his 

chairs 
To feed his furnace fires, nor 

cares no 

Who goes unfed if they are fed, 
Nor who may live if they are dead ? 
This alchemist with hollow cheeks 
And sunken, searching eyes, who 

seeks, 



By mingled earths and ores com- 
bined 

With potency of fire, to find 

Some new enamel, hard and 
bright, 

His dream, his passion, his de- 
light? 

Palissy ! within thy breast 
Burned the hot fever of unrest ; 120 
Thine was the prophet's vision, 

thine 
The exultation, the divine 
Insanity of noble minds, 
That never falters nor abates, 
But labors and endures and waits, 
Till all that it foresees it finds, 
Or what it cannot find creates ! 

Turn, turn, my wheel'. This 

earthen jar 
A touch can make, a touch can 

mar ; 
And shall it to the Potter 

say, 130 

What makest thou ? Thou hast no 

hand ? 
As men who think to understand 
A world by their Creator planned, 
Who wiser is than they. 

Still guided by the dreamy song, 
As in a trance I float along 
Above the Pyrenean chain, 
Above the fields and farms of 

Spain, 
Above the bright Majorcan isle 
That lends its softened name to 

art, — 140 

A spot, a dot upon the chart, 
Whose little towns, red -roofed 

with tile, 
Are ruby-lustred with the light 
Of blazing furnaces by night, 
And crowned by day with wreaths 

of smoke. 
Then eastward, wafted in my 

flight 
On my enchanter's magic cloak, 

1 sail across the Tyrrhene Sea 
Into the land of Italy, 



KERAMOS 



43« 



And o'er the windy Apennines, 150 
Mantled and musical with pines. 

The palaces, the princely halls, 

The doors of houses and the walls 

Of churches and of belfry towers, 

Cloister and castle, street and 
mart, 

Are garlanded and gay with flow- 
ers 

That blossom in the fields of art. 

Here Gubbio's workshops gleam 
and glow 

With brilliant, iridescent dyes, 

The dazzling whiteness of the 
snow, 160 

The cobalt blue of summer skies ; 

And vase and scutcheon, cup and 
plate, 

In perfect finish emulate 

Faenza, Florence, Pesaro. 

Forth from Urbino's gate there 

came 
A youth with the angelic name 
Of Raphael, in form and face 
Himself angelic, and divine 
In arts of color and design. 
From him Francesco Xanto 

caught 170 

Something of his transcendent 

grace, 
And into fictile fabrics wrought 
Suggestions of the master's 

thought. 
Nor less Maestro Giorgio shines 
With madre-perl and golden lines 
Of arabesques, and interweaves 
His birds and fruits and flowers 

and leaves 
About some landscape, shaded 

brown, 
With olive tints on rock and town. 

Behold this cup within whose 
bowl, 180 

Upon a ground of deepest blue 
With yellow-lustred stars o'erlaid, 
Colors of every tint and hue 
Mingle in one harmonious whole ! 
With large blue eyes and steadfast 
gaze, 



Her yellow hair in net and braid, 
Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze 
With golden lustre o'er the glaze, 
A woman's portrait ; on the scroll, 
Cana, the Beautiful ! A name 190 
Forgotten save for such brief fame 
As this memorial can bestow, — 
A gift some lover long ago 
Gave with his heart to this fair 
dame. 

A nobler title to renown 
Is thine, O pleasant Tuscan town, 
Seated beside the Arno's stream ; 
For Luca della Robbia there 
Created forms so wondrous fair, 
They made thy sovereignty su- 
preme. 200 
These choristers with lips of stone, 
Whose music is not heard, but 

seen, 
Still chant, as from their organ- 
screen, 
Their Maker's praise ; nor these 

alone, 
But the more fragile forms of clay, 
Hardly less beautiful than they, 
These saints and angels that adorn 
The walls of hospitals, and tell 
The story of good deeds so well 
That poverty seems less forlorn, 
And life more like a holiday. 211 

Here in this old neglected church, 
That long eludes the traveller's 

search, 
Lies the dead bishop on his tomb ; 
Earth upon earth he slumbering 

lies, 
Life-like and death-like in the 

gloom ; 
Garlands of fruit and flowers in 

bloom 
And foliage deck his resting-place ; 
A shadow in the sightless eyes, 
A pallor on the patient face, 22a 
Made perfect by the furnace heat; 
All earthly passions and desires 
Burnt out by purgatorial fires ; 
Seeming to say, ' Our years aro 

fleet, 
And to the weary death is sweet. 9 



432 



KERAMOS 



But the most wonderful of all 
The ornaments on tomb or wall 
That grace the fair Ausonian 

shores 
Are those the faithful earth re- 
stores, 
Near some Apulian town con- 
cealed, 230 
In vineyard or in harvest field,— 
Vases and urns and bas-reliefs, 
Memorials of forgotten griefs, 
Or records of heroic deeds 
Of demigods and mighty chiefs : 
Figures that almost move and 

speak, 
And, buried amid mould and 

weeds, 
Still in their attitudes attest 
The presence of the graceful 

Greek, — 
Achilles in his armor dressed, 240 
Alcides with the Cretan bull, 
And Aphrodite with her boy, 
Or lovely Helena of Troy, 
Still living and still beautiful. 

Turn, turn, my wheel! T is na- 
ture's plan 

The child should grow into the 
man, 
The man grow wrinkled, old, 
and gray ; 

In youth the heart exults and 



The pulses leap, the feet have 

wings ; 
In age the cricket chirps, and 

brings 250 

The harvest-home of day. 

And now the winds that south- 
ward blow, 
And cool the hot Sicilian isle, 
Bear me away. I see below 
The long line of the Libyan Nile, 
Flooding and feeding the parched 

lands 
With annual ebb and overflow, 
A fallen palm whose branches lie 
Beneath the Abyssinian sky, 
Whose roots are in Egyptian 
sands. 260 



On either bank huge water-wheels, 
Belted with jars and dripping 

weeds, 
Send forth their melancholy 

moans, 
As if, in their gray mantles hid, 
Dead anchorites of the Thebaid 
Knelt on the shore and told their 

beads, 
Beating their breasts with loud 

appeals 
And penitential tears and groans. 

This city, walled and thickly set 
With glittering mosque and mina- 
ret, 270 
Is Cairo, in whose gay bazaars 
The dreaming traveller first in- 
hales 
The perfume of Arabian gales, 
And sees the fabulous earthen 

jars, 
Huge as were those wherein the 

maid 
Morgiana found the Forty Thieves 
Concealed in midnight ambuscade ; 
And seeing, more than half be- 
lieves 
The fascinating tales that run 
Through all the Thousand Nights 
and One, 280 

Told by the fair Scheherezade. 

More strange and wonderful than 

these 
Are the Egyptian deities, 
Amnion, and Emeth, and the grand 
Osiris, holding in his hand 
The lotus ; Isis, crowned and 

veiled ; 
The sacred Ibis, and the Sphinx ; 
Bracelets with blue enamelled 

links ; 
The Scarabee in emerald mailed, 
Or spreading wide his funeral 
wings ; 290 

Lamps that perchance their night- 
watch kept 
O'er Cleopatra while she slept, — 
All plundered from the tombs ot 
kings. 



KfiRAMOS 



433 



Turn, turn, my wheel ! The hu- 
man race, 
Of every tongue, of every place, 

Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, 
•ill that inhabit this great earth, 
Whatever be their rank or worth, 
Are kindred and allied by birth, 

Arid made of the same clay. 

O'er desert sands, o'er gulf and 
bay, 301 

O'er Ganges and o'er Himalay, 
Bird-like I fly, and flying sing, 
To flowery kingdoms of Cathay, 
And bird-like poise on balanced 

wing 
Above the town of King-te-tching, 
A burning town, or seeming so, — 
Three thousand furnaces that glow 
Incessantly, and fill the air 
With smoke uprising, gyre on 
gyre, 310 

And painted by the lurid glare, 
Of jets and flashes of red fire. 

As leaves that in the autumn fall, 
Spotted and veined with various 

hues, 
Are swept along the avenues, 
And lie in heaps by hedge and 

wall, 
So from this grove of chimneys 

whirled 
To all the markets of the world, 
These porcelain leaves are wafted 

on, 
Light yellow leaves with spots and 

stains 320 

Of violet and of crimson dye, 
Or tender azure of a sky 
Just washed by gentle April rains, 
And beautiful with celadon. 

Nor less the coarser household 
wares, 

The willow pattern, that we knew 

In childhood, with its bridge of 
blue 

Leading to unknown thorough- 
fares ; 

The solitary man who stares 



At the white river flowing through 
Its arches, the fantastic trees 331 
And wild perspective of the view ; 
And intermingled among these 
The tiles that in our nurseries 
Filled us with wonder and delight, 
Or haunted us in dreams at night. 

And yonder by Nankin, behold ! 
The Tower of Porcelain, strange 

and old, 
Uplifting to the astonished skies 
Its ninefold painted balconies, 340 
With balustrades of twining leaves, 
And roofs of tile, beneath whose 

eaves 
Hang porcelain bells that all the 

time 
Ring with a soft, melodious chime ; 
While the whole fabric is ablaze 
With varied tints, all fused in 

one 
Great mass of color, like a maze 
Of flowers illumined by the sun. 

Turn, turn, my wheel! What is 

begun 
At daybreak must at dark be 

done, 350 

To-morrow will be another 

day ; 
To-morrow the hot furnace flame 
Will search the heart and try the 

frame, 
And stamp with honor or with 

shame 
These vessels made of clay. 

Cradled and rocked in Eastern 
seas, 

The islands of the Japanese 

Beneath me lie ; o'er lake and 
plain 

The stork, the heron, and the 
crane 

Through the clear realms of azure 
drift, 360 

And on the hillside I can see 

The villages of Imari, 

Whose thronged and flaming work- 
shops lift 



434 



KfiRAMOS 



Their twisted columns of smoke 

on high, 
Cloud cloisters that in ruins lie, 
With sunshine streaming through 

each rift, 
And broken arches of blue sky. 

All the bright flowers that fill the 

land, 
Ripple of waves on rock or sand, 
The snow on Fusiyama's cone, 370 
The midnight heaven so thickly 

sown 
With constellations of bright stars, 
The leaves that rustle, the reeds 

that make 
A whisper by each stream and 

lake, 
The saffron dawn, the sunset red, 
Are painted on these lovely jars ; 
Again the skylark sings, again 
The stork, the heron, and the crane 
Float through the azure over- 
head, 
The counterfeit and counter- 
part 380 
Of Nature reproduced in Art. 

Art is the child of Nature ; yes, 
Her darling child, in whom we 

trace 
The features of the mother's face, 
Her aspect and her attitude ; 
All her majestic loveliness 
Chastened and softened and sub- 
dued 
Into a more attractive grace, 
And with a human sense imbued. 

He is the greatest artist, then, 390 
Whether of pencil or of pen, 



Who follows Nature. Never man, 
As artist or as artisan, 
Pursuing his own fantasies, 
Can touch the human heart, or 

please, 
Or satisfy our nobler needs, 
As he who sets his willing feet 
In Nature's footprints, light and 

fleet, 
And follows fearless where she 

leads. 

Thus mused I on that morn in 
May, 400 

Wrapped in my visions like the 
Seer, 

Whose eyes behold not what is 
near, 

But only what is far away, 

When, suddenly sounding peal on 
peal, 

The church-bell from the neighbor- 
ing town 

Proclaimed the welcome hour of 
noon. 

The Potter heard, and stopped his 
wheel, 

His apron on the grass threw 
down, 

Whistled his quiet little tune, 

Not overloud nor overlong, 410 

And ended thus his simple song : 

Stop, stop, my wheel! Too soon, 

too soon 
The noon will be the afternoon, 

Too soon to-day be yesterday; 
Behind us in our pa,th we cast 
The broken potsherds of the past, 
And all are ground to dust at last, 

And trodden into clay! 



A DUTCH PICTURE 



435 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

FLIGHT THE FIFTH 



THE HEKONS OF ELMWOOD 

Warm and still is the summer 
night, 
As here by the river's brink I 
wander ; 
White overhead are the stars, and 
white 
The glimmering lamps on the 
hillside yonder. 

Silent are all the sounds of day ; 
Nothing I hear but the chirp of 
crickets, 
And the cry of the herons winging 
their way 
O'er the poet's house in the Elm- 
wood thickets. 

Call to him, herons, as slowly you 
pass 
To your roosts in the haunts of 
the exiled thrushes, 
Sing him the song of the green 
morass, 
And the tides that water the 
reeds and rushes. 

Sing him the mystical Song of the 
Hern, 
And the secret that baffles our 
utmost seeking; 
For only a sound of lament we dis- 
cern, 
And cannot interpret the words 
you are speaking. 

Sing of the air, and the wild delight 
Of wings that uplift and winds 
that uphold you, 
The joy of freedom, the rapture of 
flight 
Through the drift of the floating 
mists that infold you ; 



Of the landscape lying so far be- 
low, 
With its towns and rivers and 
desert places ; 
And the splendor of light above, 
and the glow 
Of the limitless, blue, ethereal 
spaces. 

Ask him if songs of the Trouba- 
dours, 
Or of Minnesingers in old black- 
letter, 
Sound in his ears more sweet than 
yours, 
And if yours are not sweeter and 
wilder and better. 

Sing to him, say to him, here at his 
gate, 
Where the boughs of the stately 
elms are meeting, 
Some one hath lingered to medi- 
tate, 
And send him unseen this 
friendly greeting ; 

That many another hath done the 
same, 
Though not by a sound was the 
silence broken ; 
The surest pledge of a deathless 
name 
Is the silent homage of thoughts 
unspoken. 

A DUTCH PICTURE 

Simon Danz has come home 

again, 
From cruising about with hi, 

buccaneers ; 
He has singed the beard of the 

King of Spain, 



43 6 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



And carried away the Dean of 
Jaen 
And sold him in Algiers. 

In his house by the Maese, with 
its roof of tiles, 
And weathercocks flying aloft 
in air, 
There are silver tankards of an- 
tique styles, 
Plunder of convent and castle, and 
piles 
Of carpets rich and rare. 

In his tulip-garden there by the 
town, 
Overlooking the sluggish stream, 
With his Moorish cap and dressing- 
gown, 
The old sea-captain, hale and 
brown, 
Walks in a waking dream. 

A smile in his gray mustachio 
lurks 
Whenever he thinks of the King 
of Spain, 
And the listed tulips look like 

Turks, 
And the silent gardener as he 
works 
Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. 

The windmills on the outermost 
Verge of the landscape in the 
haze, 
To him are towers on the Spanish 

coast, 
With whiskered sentinels at their 
post, 
Though this is the river Maese. 

But when the winter rains be- 
gin, 
He sits and smokes by the blaz- 
ing brands, 
And old seafaring men come in, 
Boat -bearded, gray, and with 
double chin, 
And rings upon their hands. 



They sit there in the shadow and 
shine 
Of the flickering fire of the 
winter night ; 
Figures in color and design 
Like those by Rembrandt of the 
Ehine, 
Half darkness and half light. 

And they talk of ventures lost or 
won, 
And their talk is ever and ever 
the same, 
While they drink the red wine of 

Tarragon, 
From the cellars of some Spanish 
Don, 
Or convent set on flame. 

Restless at times with heavy 
strides 
He paces his parlor to and fro ; 
He is like a ship that at anchor 

rides, 
And swings with the rising and 
falling tides, 
And tugs at her anchor-tow. 

Voices mysterious far and near, 
Sound of the wind and sound of 
the sea, 
Are calling and whispering in his 

ear, 
' Simon Danz ! Why stayest thou 
here ? 
Come forth and follow me ! ' 

So he thinks he shall take to the 
sea again 
For one more cruise with his 
buccaneers, 
To singe the beard of the King of 

Spain, 
And capture another Dean of Jaei> 
And sell hirn in Algiers. 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

How much of my young heart, O 
Spain, 
Went out to thee in days of yore! 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 



437 



What dreams romantic filled my 

brain, 
And summoned back to life again 
The Paladins of Charlemagne, 
The Cid Campeador ! 

And shapes more shadowy than 
these, 
In the dim twilight half re- 
vealed ; 
Phoenician galleys on the seas, 
The Roman camps like hives of 
bees, 10 

The Goth uplifting from his knees 
Pelayo on his shield. 

It was these memories perchance, 

From annals of remotest eld, 
That lent the colors of romance 
To every trivial circumstance, 
And changed the form and counte- 
nance 
Of all that I beheld. 

Old towns, whose history lies 
hid 
In monkish chronicle or 
rhyme, — 20 

Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, 
Zamora and Valladolid, 
Toledo, built and walled amid 
The wars of Wamba's time ; 

The long, straight line of the high- 
way, 
The distant town that seems so 
near, 

The peasants in the fields, that 
stay 

Their toil to cross themselves and 
pray, 

When from the belfry at midday 
The Angelus they hear ; 30 

White crosses in the mountain 

pass, 
Mules gay with tassels, the loud 

din 
Of muleteers, the tethered ass 
That crops the dusty wayside 



And cavaliers with spurs of brass 
Alighting at the inn ; 

White hamlets hidden in fields of 

wheat, 
White cities slumbering by the 

sea, 
White sunshine flooding square 

and street, 
Dark mountain ranges, at whose 

feet 40 

The river beds are dry with heat, — 
All was a dream to me. 

Yet something sombre and severe 
O'er the enchanted landscape 
reigned ; 
A terror in the atmosphere 
As if King Philip listened near, 
Or Torquemada, the austere, 
His ghostly sway maintained. 

The softer Andalusian skies 
Dispelled the sadness and the 
gloom ; 50 

There Cadiz by the seaside lies, 
And Seville's orange-orchards rise, 
Making the land a paradise 
Of beauty and of bloom. 

There Cordova is hidden among 
The palm, the olive, and the 
vine ; 
Gem of the South, by poets sung, 
And in whose mosque Almanzor 

hung 
As lamps the bells that once had 
rung 
At Compostella's shrine. 60 

But over all the rest supreme, 
The star of stars, the cynosure, 

The artist's and the poet's theme, 

The young man's vision, the old 
man's dream, — 

Granada by its winding stream, 
The city of the Moor ! 

And there the Alhambra still re- 
calls 
Aladdin's palace of delight .• 



438 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Allah il Allah ! through its halls 
"Whispers the fountain as it falls, 
The Darro -darts beneath its 
walls, 71 

The hills with snow are white. 

Ah yes, the hills are white with 
snow, 
And cold with blasts that bite 
and freeze ; 
But in the happy vale below 
The orange and pomegranate 

grow, 
And wafts of air toss to and fro 
The blossoming almond trees. 

The Vega cleft by the Xenil, 
The fascination and allure 80 

Of the sweet landscape chains the 
will; 

The traveller lingers on the hill, 

His parted lips are breathing still 
The last sigh of the Moor. 

How like a ruin overgrown 
With flowers that hide the rents 

of time, 
Stands now the Past that I have 

known ; 
Castles in Spain, not built of 

stone 
But of white summer clouds, and 

blown 
Into this little mist of rhyme ! 90 



VITTOEIA COLONNA 

Vittoria Colonna, on the death of her 
husband, the Marchese di Pescara, re- 
tired to her castle at Ischia (Inarinn*), 
and there wrote the Ode upon his death 
which gained her the title of Divine. 

Once more, once more, Inarime, 
I see thy purple halls ! — once 
more 
I hear the billows of the bay 
Wash the white pebbles on thy 
shore. 



High o'er the sea-surge and the 
sands, 
Like a great galleon wrecked 
and cast 
Ashore by storms, thy castle 
stands, 
A mouldering landmark of the 
Past. 

Upon its terrace-walk I see 
A phantom gliding to and fro ; 

It is Colonna, — it is she 
Who lived and loved so long 
ago. 

Pescara's beautiful young wife, 

The type of perfect womanhood, 
Whose life was love, the life of 
life, 
That time and change and death 
withstood. 

For death, that breaks the mar- 
riage band 
In others, only closer pressed 
The wedding-ring upon her hand 
And closer locked and barred 
her breast. 

She knew the life -long martyr- 
dom, 
The weariness, the endless pain 
Of waiting for some one to come 
Who nevermore would come 
again. 

The shadows of the chestnut trees, 
The odor of the orange blooms, 

The song of birds, and, more than 
these, 
The silence of deserted rooms ; 

The respiration of the sea, 
The soft caresses of the air, 

All things in nature seemed to 
be 
But ministers of her despair ; 

Till the o'erburdened heart, so 
long 
Imprisoned in itself, found vent 



TO THE RIVER YVETTE 



439 



And voice in one impassioned song 
Of inconsolable lament. 

Then as the sun, though hidden 
from sight, 
Transmutes to gold the leaden 
mist, 
Her life was interfused with light, 
From realms that, though un- 
seen, exist. 

Inarime ! Inarime ! 

Thy castle on the crags above 
In dust shall crumble and decay, 

But not the memory of her 
love. 



THE REVENGE OF RAIN- 
IN-THE-FACE 

In that desolate land and lone, 
Where the Big Horn and Yellow- 
stone 

Roar down their mountain path, 
By their fires the Sioux Cbiefs 
Muttered their woes and griefs 

And the menace of their wrath. 

' Revenge ! ' cried Rain - in - the- 

Face, 
" Revenge upon all the race 
Of the White Chief with yellow 
hair ! ' 
And the mountains dark and high 
From their crags reechoed the cry 
Of his anger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide 
By woodland and river-side 

The Indian village stood ; 
All was silent as a dream, 
Save the rushing of the stream 

And the blue-jay in the wood. 

In his war paint and his beads, 
Like a bison among the reeds, 

In ambush the Sitting Bull 
Lay with three thousand braves 
Crouched in the clefts and caves. 

Savage, unmerciful l 



Into the fatal snare 

The White Chief with yellow hair 

And his three hundred men 
Dashed headlong, sword in hand ; 
But of that gallant band 

Not one returned again. 

The sudden darkness of death 
Overwhelmed them like the breath 

And smoke of a furnace fire : 
By the river's bank, and between 
The rocks of the ravine, 

They lay in their bloody attire. 

But the foemen fled in the night, 
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight, 

Uplifted high in air 
As a ghastly trophy, bore 
The brave heart, that beat no 
more, 
Of the White Chief with yellow 
hair. 

Whose was the right and the 

wrong? 
Sing it, O funeral song, 

With a voice that is full of tears, 
And say that our broken faith 
Wrought all this ruin and scathe, 

In the Year of a Hundred Years. 



TO THE RIVER YVETTE 

O lovely river of Yvette ! 

O darling river ! like a bride, 
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Li- 
. sette, 
Thou goest to wed the Orge's 
tide. 

Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre, 
See and salute thee on thy 
way, 
And, with a blessing and a prayer. 
Ring the sweet bells of St. For- 
get. 

The valley of Chevreuse in vain 
Would hold thee in its fond em- 
brace ; 



440 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



Thou glidest from its arms again 
And hurriest on with swifter 
pace. 

Thou wilt not stay ; with restless 
feet, 
Pursuing still thine onward 
flight, 
Thou goest as one in haste to meet 
Her sole desire, her heart's de- 
light. 

O lovely river of Yvette ! 
O darling stream! on balanced 
wings 
The wood-birds sang the chanson- 
nette 
That here a wandering poet 
sings. 

THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE 

' Combien faudrait-il de peaux d'Es- 
pagne pour faire un gant de cette gran- 
deur ? ' A play upon the words gant, a 
glove, and Gand, the French for Ghent. 

On St. Bavon's tower, command- 
ing 
Half of Flanders, his domain, 
Charles the Emperor once was 

standing, 
"While beneath him on the landing 
Stood Duke Alva and his train. 

Like a print in books of fables, 

Or a model made for show, 
With its pointed roofs and gables, 
Dormer windows, scrolls and 
labels, 
Lay the city far below. 

Through its squares and streets 
and alleys 
Poured the populace of Ghent ; 
As a routed army rallies, 
Or as rivers run through valleys, 
Hurrying to their homes they 
went. 

*Nest of Lutheran misbelievers ! ' 
Cried Duke Alva as he gazed ; 



' Haunt of traitors and deceivers, 

Stronghold of insurgent weavers, 

Let it to the ground be razed ! ' 

On the Emperor's cap the feather 

Nods, as laughing he replies : 
' How many skins of Spanish 

leather, 
Think you, would, if stitched to- 
gether, 
Make a glove of such a size ? ' 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH 
FLEET 

OCTOBER, 1746 

Mr. Thomas Prince loquitur 

A fjleet with flags arrayed 

Sailed from the port of Brest, 
And the Admiral's ship displayed 

The signal : ' Steer southwest.' 
For this Admiral D'Anville 

Had sworn by cross and crown 
To ravage with fire and steel 

Our helpless Boston Town. 

There were rumors in the street, 

In the houses there was fear 
Of the coming of the fleet, 

And the danger hovering near. 
And while from mouth to mouth 

Spread the tidings of dismay, 
I stood in the Old South, 

Saying humbly : ' Let us pray ! 

' Lord ! we would not advise ; 

But if in thy Providence 
A tempest should arise 

To drive the French Fleet hence. 
And scatter it far and wide, 

Or sink it in the sea, 
We should be satisfied, 

And thine the glory be.' 

This was the prayer I made, 
For my soul was all on flame, 

And even as I prayed 
The answering tempest came ; 

It came with a mighty power, 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 



44* 



Shaking the windows and walls, 
And tolling the bell in the tower, 
As it tolls at funerals. 

The lightning suddenly 

Unsheathed its flaming sword, 
And I cried : ' Stand still, and see 

The salvation of the Lord ! ' 
The heavens were black with 
cloud, 

The sea was white with hail, 
And ever more fierce and loud 

Blew the October gale. 

The fleet it overtook, 

And the broad sails in the van 
Like the tents of Cushan shook, 

Or the curtains of Midian. 
Down on the reeling decks 

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 
Ah, never were there wrecks 

So pitiful as these ! 

Like a potter's vessel broke 

The great ships of the line ; 
They were carried away as a 
smoke, 

Or sank like lead in the brine. 
Lord ! before thy path 

They vanished and ceased to be, 
When thou didst walk in wrath 

With thine horses through the 
sea! 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and 

fleet, 
His chestnut steed with four white 
feet, 
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, 
Son of the road and bandit chief, 
Seeking refuge and relief, 
Up the mountain pathway flew. 

Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, 
Never yet could any steed 
Reach the dust-cloud in his 
course. o [ 

More than maiden, more than wile, ! 



More than gold and next to life 
Roushan the Robber loved his 
horse. 

In the land that lies beyond 
Erzeroum and Trebizond, 

Garden-girt his fortress stood ; 
Plundered khan, or caravan 
Journeying north from Koordistan, 

Gave him wealth and wine and 
food. 

Seven hundred and fourscore 
Men at arms his livery wore, 20 

Did his bidding night and day; 
Now, through regions all unknown, 
He was wandering, lost, alone. 

Seeking without guide his way. 

Suddenly the pathway ends, 
Sheer the precipice descends, 

Loud the torrent roars unseen ; 
Thirty feet from side to side 
Yawns the chasm; on air must 
ride 

He who crosses this ravine. 30 

Following close in his pursuit, 
At the precipice's foot 

Reyhan the Arab of Orfah 
Halted with his hundred men, 
Shouting upward from the glen, 

' La Iliah ilia AMh!' 

Gently Roushan Beg caressed 
Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast ; 

Kissed him upon both his eyes, 
Sang to him in his wild way, 40 
As upon the topmost spray 

Sings a bird before it flies. 

' O my Kyrat, O my steed, 
Round and slender as a reed, 

Carry me this peril through! 
Satin housings shall be thine, 
Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, 

O thou soul of Kurroglou ! 

' Soft thy skin as silken skein, 
Soft as woman's hair thy mane, 50 
Tender are thine eyes and true; 



442 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



All thy hoofs like ivory shine, 
Polished bright ; O life of mine, 
Leap, and rescue Kurroglou ! ' 

Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, 
Drew together his four white feet, 

Paused a moment on the verge, 
Measured with his eye the space, 
And into the air's embrace 

Leaped as leaps the ocean 
surge. 60 

As the ocean surge o'er sand 
Bears a swimmer safe to land, 

Kyrat safe his rider bore ; 
Rattling down the deep abyss 
Fragments of the precipice 

Polled like pebbles on a shore; 

Roushan's tasselled cap of red 
Trembled not upon his head, 

Careless sat he and upright ; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook, 70 
Nor his head he turned to look, 

As he galloped out of sight. 

Flash of harness in the air, 
Seen a moment like the glare 
Of a sword drawn from its 
sheath ; 
Thus the phantom horseman 

passed, 
And the shadow that he cast 
Leaped the cataract underneath. 

Reyhan the Arab held his breath 
While this vision of life and death 

Passed above him. ' Allahu ! ' 
Cried he. ' In all Koordistan 82 
Lives there not so brave a man 

As this Robber Kurroglou ! ' 

HAROUN AL RASCHID 

One day, Haroun Al Raschid read 
A book wherein the poet said : — 

* Where are the kings, and where 
the rest 

Df those who once the world pos- 
sessed? 



' They 're gone with all their pomp 

and show, 
They 're gone the way that thou 

shalt go. 

'O thou who choosest for thy 

share 
The world, and what the world 

calls fair, 

' Take all that it can give or lend, 
But know that death is at the end ! ' 

Haroun Al Raschid bowed his 

head: 
Tears fell upon the page he read. 



KING TRISANKU 

Viswamitra the Magician, 
By his spells and incantations, 

Up to Indra's realms elysian 
Raised Trisanku, king of na- 
tions. 

Indra and the gods offended 
Hurled him downward, and de- 
scending 
In the air he hung suspended, 
With these equal powers con- 
tending. 

Thus by aspirations lifted, 

By misgivings downward driven, 
Human hearts are tossed and 
drifted 
Midway between earth and hea- 
ven. 



A WRAITH IN THE MIST 

'Sir, I should build me a fortifica,- 
tion, if I came to live here.' — Bos- 
well's Johnson. 

On the green little isle of Inch- 
kenneth, 
Who is it that walks by the 
shore, 



THE THREE KINGS 



443 



Bo gay with his Highland hlue 


Their robes were of crimson silk 


bonnet, 


with rows 


So brave with his targe and clay- 


Of bells and pomegranates and fur- 


more? 


belows, 




Their turbans like blossoming 


His form is the form of a giant, 


almond-trees. 


But his face wears an aspect of 




pain; 


And so the Three Kings rode into 


Can this be the Laird of Inchken- 


the West, 


neth? 


Through the dusk of night, over 


Can this be Sir Allan McLean ? 


hill and dell, 




And sometimes they nodded with 


Ah, no! It -is only the Ram- 


beard on breast, 


bler, 


And sometimes talked, as they 


The Idler, who lives in Bolt 


paused to rest, 


Court, 


With the people they met at 


And who says, were he Laird of 


some wayside well. 20 


Inchkenneth, 




He would wall himself round 


' Of the child that is born,' said 


with a fort. 


Baltasar, 




1 Good people, I pray you, tell 




us the news ; 


THE THREE KINGS 


For we in the East have seen his 




star, 


Three Kings came riding from 


And have ridden fast, and have 


far away, 


ridden far, 


Melchior and Gaspar and Balta- 


To find and worship the King of 


sar; 


the Jews.' 


Three "Wise Men out of the East 




were they, 


And the people answered, ' You 


And they travelled by night and 


ask in vain ; 


they slept by day, 


We know of no king but Herod 


For their guide was a beautiful, 


the Great ! ' 


wonderful star. 


They thought the Wise Men were 




men insane, ' 


The star was so beautiful, large, 


As they spurred their horses 


and clear, 


across the plain, 


That all the other stars of the 


Like riders in haste, and who 


sky 


cannot wait. 30 


Became a white mist in the at- 




mosphere, 


And when they came to Jerusa- 


And by this they knew that the 


lem, 


coming was near 


Herod the Great, who had heard 


Of the Prince foretold in the pro- 


this thing, 


phecy. IO 


Sent for the Wise Men and ques- 




tioned them ; 


Three caskets they bore on their 


And said, ' Go down unto Bethle* 


saddle-bows, 


hem, 


Three caskets of gold with golden 


And bring me tidings of this 


keys; 


new king.' 



444 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



So they rode away; and the star 
stood still, 
The only one in the gray of 
morn; 
Yes, it stopped, — it stood still of 

its own free will, 
Eight over Bethlehem on the hill, 
The city of David, where Christ 
was horn. 4° 

And the Three Kings rode through 

the gate and the guard, 
Through the silent street, till 

their horses turned 
And neighed as they entered the 

great inn-yard ; 
But the windows were closed, and 

the doors were barred, 
And only a light in the stable 

burned. 

And cradled there in the scented 
hay, 
In the air made sweet by the 
breath of kine, 

The little child in the manger 
lay, 

The child, that would be king one 
day 
Of a kingdom not human but di- 
vine. 5° 

His mother Mary of Nazareth 

Sat watching beside his place of 
rest, 
Watching the even flow of his 

breath, 
For the joy of life and the terror 
of death 
Were mingled together in her 
breast. 

They laid their offerings at his 
feet: 
The gold was their tribute to a 
King, 
The frankincense, with its odor 

sweet, 
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete, 
The myrrh for the body's bury- 
ing. 6o 



And the mother wondered and 
bowed her head, 
And sat as still as a statue of 
stone ; 

Her heart was troubled yet com. 
forted, 

Kemembering what the Angel had 
said 
Of an endless reign and of Da- 
vid's throne. 

Then the Kings rode out of the 

city gate, 
With a clatter of hoofs in proud 

array ; 
But they went not back to Herod 

the Great, 
For they knew his malice and 

feared his hate, 
And returned to their homes by 

another way. 7° 



SONG 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and 
rest ; 

Home - keeping hearts are hap- 
piest, 

For those that wander they know 
not where 

Are full of trouble and full of 
care; 
To stay at home is best. 

Weary and homesick and dis- 
tressed, 

They wander east, they wander 
west, 

And are baffled and beaten and 
blown about 

By the winds of the wilderness of 
doubt ; 
To stay at home is best. 

Then stay at home, my heart, and 

rest; 
The bird is safest in its nest ; 
O'er all that flutter their wings and 

fly 



DELIA 



445 



A hawk is hovering in the sky ; 
To stay at home is best. 



THE WHITE CZAE 

The White Czar is Peter the Great. 
Batyushka, Father dear, and Gosudar, 
Sovereign, are titles the Russian peo- 
ple are fond of giving to the Czar in 
their popular songs. 

Dost thou see on the rampart's 

height 
That wreath of mist, in the light 
Of the midnight moon ? Oh, hist ! 
It is not a wreath of mist ; 
It is the Czar, the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard, among the dead, 
The artillery roll o'erhead ; 
The drums and the tramp of feet 
Of his soldiery in the street ; 
He is awake ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard in the grave the 

cries 
Of his people : ' Awake ! arise ! ' 
He has rent the gold brocade 
Whereof his shroud was made ; 
He is risen ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka S Gosudar ! 

From the Volga and the Don 
He has led his armies on, 
Over river and morass, 
Over desert and mountain pass : 
The Czar, the Orthodox Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He looks from the mountain-chain 
Toward the seas, that cleave in 
twain 



The continents ; his hand 
Points southward o'er the land 
Of Boumili ! O Czar, 

Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

And the words break from his 

lips: 
' I am the builder of ships, 
And my ships shall sail these 

seas 
To the Pillars of Hercules ! 
I say it ; the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

' The Bosphorus shall be free ; 
It shall make room for me ; 
And the gates of its water-streets 
Be unbarred before my fleets. 
I say it ; the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

' And the Christian shall no more 
Be crushed, as heretofore, 
Beneath thine iron rule, 

Sultan of Istamboul ! 

1 swear it ! I the Czar, 

Batyushka ! Gosudar 1 ' 



DELIA 

Sweet as the tender fragrance 

that survives, 
When martyred flowers breathe 

out their little lives, 
Sweet as a song that once consoled 

our pain, 
But never will be sung to us again, 
Is thy remembrance. Now the 

hour of rest 
Hath come to thee. Sleep, dar. 

ling ; it is best. 



446 



ULTIMA THULE 



ULTIMA THULE 



DEDICATION 

TO G. W. G. 

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit 

seas, 
We sailed for the Hesperides, 
Tlie land where golden apples 

grow ; 
But that, ah ! that was long ago. 

How far since then the ocean 

streams 
Have swept us from the land of 

dreams, 
That land of fiction and of truth, 
The lost Atlantis of our youth ! 

Whither, ah, whither? Are not 
these 

The tempest-haunted Orcades, 

Where sea-gulls scream, and break- 
ers roar, 

And wreck and sea-weed line the 
shore ? 

Ultima Thule ! Utmost Isle ! 
Here in thy harbors for a while 
We lower our sails; a while we 

rest 
From the unending, endless quest, 



POEMS 

BAYARD TAYLOR 

Dead he lay among his books ! 
The peace of God was in his looks. 

As the statues in the gloom 
Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb, 

So those volumes from their 

shelves 
Watched him, silent as themselves. 



Ah ! his hand will nevermore 
Turn their storied pages o'er ; 

Nevermore his lips repeat 
Songs of theirs, however sweet. 

Let the lifeless body rest ! 
He is gone, who was its guest ; 

Gone, as travellers haste to leave 
An inn, nor tarry until eve. 

Traveller ! in what realms afar, 
In what planet, in what star, 

In what vast, aerial space, 
Shines the light upon thy face ? 

In what gardens of delight 
Rest thy weary feet to-night ? 

Poet ! thou, whose latest verse 
Was a garland on thy hearse ; 

Thou hast sung, with organ tone, 
In Deukalion's life, thine own ; 

On the ruins of the Past 
Blooms the perfect flower at last. 

Friend ! but yesterday the bells 
Rang for thee their loud farewells; 

And to-day they toll for thee, 
Lying dead beyond the sea ; 

Lying dead among thy books, 
The peace of God in all thy looks I 

THE CHAMBER OVER THE 
GATE 

Is it so far from thee 
Thou canst no longer see, 
In the Chamber over the Gate, 
That old man desolate, 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 



447 



Weeping and wailing sore 


FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 


For his son, who is no more ? 




' Absalom, my son ! 


TO THE CHILDREN OF CAM- 




BRIDGE 


Is it so long ago 




That cry of human woe 


WHO PRESENTED TO ME, ON MY 


From the walled city came, 


SEVENTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY, 


Calling on his dear name, 


FEBRUARY 27, 1879, THIS CHAIR 


That it has died away 


MADE FROM THE WOOD OF 


In the distance of to-day ? 


THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH'S 


Absalom, my son ! 


CHESTNUT TREE. 


There is no far or near, 


Am I a king, that I should call my 


There is neither there nor here, 


own 


There is neither soon nor late, 


This splendid ebon throne? 


In that Chamber over the Gate, 


Or by what reason, or what right 


Nor any long ago 


divine, 


To that cry of human woe, 


Can I proclaim it mine ? 


Absalom, my son ! 






Only, perhaps, by right divine of 


From the ages that are past 


song 


The voice sounds like a blast, 


It may to me belong ; 


Over seas that wreck and drown, 


Only because the spreading chest- 


Over tumult of traffic and town ; 


nut tree 


And from ages yet to be 


Of old was sung by me. 


Come the echoes back to me, 




Absalom, my son ! 


Well I remember it in all its 




prime, 


Somewhere at every hour 


When in the summer-time 


The watchman on the tower 


The affluent foliage of its branches 


Looks forth, and sees the fleet 


made 


Approach of the hurrying feet 


A cavern of cool shade. 


Of messengers, that bear 




The tidings of despair. 


There, by the blacksmith's forge, 


Absalom, my son ! 


beside the street, 




Its blossoms white and sweet 


He goes forth from the door, 


Enticed the bees, until it seemed 


Who shall return no more. 


alive, 


With him our joy departs ; 


And murmured like a hive. 


The light goes out in our hearts ; 




In the Chamber over the Gate 


And when the winds of autumn, 


We sit disconsolate. 


with a shout, 


Absalom, my son ! 


Tossed its great arms about, 




The shining chestnuts, bursting 


That 't is a common grief 


from the sheath, 


Bringeth but slight relief ; 


Dropped to the ground be- 


Ours is the bitterest loss, 


neath. 


Ours is the heaviest cross ; 




And forever the cry will be 


And . now some fragments of its 


' Would God I had died for thee, 


branches bare, 


Absalom, my son ! ' 


Shaped as a stately chair, 



448 



ULTIMA THULE 



Have by my hearthstone found a 
home at last, 
And whisper of the past. 

The Danish king could not in all 
his pride 
Repel the ocean tide, 
But, seated in this chair, I can in 
rhyme 
Roll back the tide of Time. 

I see again, as one in vision sees, 
The blossoms and the bees, 

And hear the children's voices 
shout and call, 
And the brown chestnuts fall. 

I see the smithy with its fires 
aglow, 
I hear the bellows blow, 
And the shrill hammers on the 
anvil beat 
The iron white with heat ! 

And thus, dear children, have ye 
made for me 
This day a jubilee, 
And to my more than threescore 
years and ten 
Brought back my youth again. 

The heart hath its own memory, 
like the mind, 
And in it are enshrined 
The precious keepsakes, into 
which is wrought 
The giver's loving thought. 

Only your love and your remem- 
brance could 
Give life to this dead wood, 
And make these branches, leafless 
now so long, 
Blossom again in song. 

JUGURTHA 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 
Cried the African monarch, the 
splendid, 
As down to his death in the hollow 



Dark dungeons of Rome he de- 
scended, 
Uncrowned, unthroned, unat- 
tended ; 
How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 
Cried the Poet, unknown, unbe- 
friended, 
As the vision, that lured him to 
follow, 
With the mist and the darkness 

blended, 
And the dream of his life was 
ended ; 
How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 



THE IRON PEN 

I thought this Pen would arise 
From the casket where it lies — 
Of itself would arise and write 
My thanks and my surprise. 

When you gave it me under the 

pines, 
I dreamed these gems from the 

mines 
Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine 
Would glimmer as thoughts in the 

lines ; 

That this iron link from the chain 
Of Bonnivard might retain 

Some verse of the Poet who sang 
Of the prisoner and his pain ; 

That this wood from the frigate's 

mast 
Might write me a rhyme at last, 
i As it used to write on the sky 
The song of the sea and the blast. 

But motionless as I wait, 

Like a Bishop lying in state 

I Lies the Pen, with its mitre of 

gold, 
And. its jewels inviolate. 

Then must I speak, and say 
That the light of that summer day 



ROBERT BURNS 



449 



In the garden under the pines 
Shall not fade and pass away. 

I shall see you standing there, 
Caressed hy the fragrant air, 

With the shadow on your face, 
And the sunshine on your hair. 

I shall hear the sweet low tone 
Of a voice before unknown, 
Saying, ' This is from me to 
you — 
From me, and to you alone.' 

And in words not idle and vain 
I shall answer and thank you 

again 
For the gift, and the grace of 

the gift, 
O beautiful Helen of Maine ! 

And forever this gift will be 
As a blessing from you to me, 
As a drop of the dew <5f your 
youth 
On the leaves of an aged tree. 



EOBEET BUENS 

I see amid the fields of Ayr 
A ploughman, who, in foul and 
fair, 

Sings at his task 
So clear, we know not if it is 
The laverock's song we hear, or his, 

Nor care to ask. 

For him the ploughing of those 

fields 
A more ethereal harvest yields 

Than sheaves of grain ; 
Songs flush with purple bloom the 

rye, 
The plover's call, the curlew's cry, 
Sing in his brain. 

Touched by his hand, the wayside 

weed 
Becomes a flower; the lowliest 

reed 



Beside the stream 
Is clothed with beauty ; gorse and 

grass 
And heather, where his footsteps 
pass, 
The brighter seem. 

He sings of love, whose flame il- 
lumes 
The darkness of lone cottage 
rooms ; 
He feels the force, 
The treacherous undertow and 

stress 
Of wayward passions, and no less 
The keen remorse. 

At moments, wrestling with his 

fate, 
His voice is harsh, but not with 
hate ; 
The brush-wood, hung 
Above the tavern door, lets fall 
Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall 
Upon his tongue. 

But still the music of his song 
Eises o'er all, elate and strong ; 

Its master-chords 
Are Manhood, Freedom, Brother- 
hood, 
Its discords but an interlude 

Between the words. 

And then to die so young and 

leave 
Unfinished what he might achieve ! 

Yet better sure 
Is this, than wandering up and 

down, 
An old man in a country town, 
Infirm and poor. 

For now he haunts his native 

land 
As an immortal youth ; his hand 

Guides every plough ; 
He sits beside each ingle-nook, 
His voice is in each rushing brook, 

Each rustling bough. 



45° 



ULTIMA THULE 



His presence haunts this room to- 
night, 
A form of mingled mist and light 

From that far coast. 
Welcome beneath this roof of 

mine ! 
Welcome! this vacant chair is 
thine, 
Dear guest and ghost ! 



HELEN OF TYRE 

What phantom is this that ap- 
pears 
Through the purple mists of the 
years, 
Itself but a mist like these ? 
A woman of cloud and of fire ; 
It is she ; it is Helen of Tyre, 
The town in the midst of the 
seas. 

O Tyre ! in thy crowded streets 
The phantom appears and retreats, 

And the Israelites that sell 
Thy lilies and lions of brass, 
Look up as they see her pass, 

And murmur ' Jezebel ! ' 

Then another phantom is seen 
At her side, in a gray gabardine, 

With beard that floats to his 
waist ; 
It is Simon Magus, the Seer; 
He speaks, and she pauses to hear 

The words he utters in haste. 

He says : ' From this evil fame, 
From this life of sorrow and 
shame, 
I will lift thee and make thee 
mine ; 
Thou hast been Queen Candace, 
And Helen of Troy, and shalt be 
The Intelligence Divine ! ' 

Oh, sweet as the breath of morn, 
To the fallen and forlorn 

Are whispered words of praise; 
For the famished heart believes 



The falsehood that tempts and 
deceives, 
And the promise that betrays. 

So she follows from land to land 
The wizard's beckoning hand, 

As a leaf is blown by the gust, 
Till she vanishes into night. 
O reader, stoop down and write 

With thy finger in the dust. 

O town in the midst of the seas, 
With thy rafts of cedar trees, 

Thy merchandise and thy 
ships, 
Thou, too, art become as naught, 
A phantom, a shadow, a thought, 

A name upon men's lips. 



ELEGIAC 

Dark is the morning with mist; 

in the narrow mouth of the 

harbor 

Motionless lies the sea, under its 

curtain of cloud ; 

Dreamily glimmer the sails of 

ships on the distant horizon, 

Like to the towers of a town, 

built on the verge of the sea. 

Slowly and stately and still, they 
sail forth into the ocean ; 
With them sail my thoughts over 
the limitless deep, 
Farther and farther away, borne 
on by unsatisfied longings, 
Unto Hesperian isles, unto Au- 
sonian shores. 

Now they have vanished away, 

have disappeared in the 

ocean ; 
Sunk are the towers of the town 

into the depths of the sea ! 
All have vanished but those that, 

moored in the neighboring 

roadstead, 
Sailless at anchor ride, looming 

so large in the mist. 



THE SIFTING OF PETER 



45' 



Vanished, too, are the thoughts, 


It is not the wall of stone without 


the dim, unsatisfied longings; 


That makes the building small 


Sunk are the turrets of cloud 


or great, 


into the ocean of dreams ; 


But the soul's light shining round 


While in a haven of rest my heart 


about, 


is riding at anchor, 


And the faith that overcometh 


Held by the chains of love, held 


doubt, 


by the anchors of trust ! 


And the love that stronger is 




than hate. 


OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RAD- 


Were I a pilgrim in search of 


NOR 


peace, 




Were I a pastor of Holy Church, 


What an image of peace and rest 


More than a Bishop's diocese 


Is this little church among its 


Should I prize this place of rest 


graves ! 


and release 


All is so quiet; the troubled 


From further longing and further 


breast, 


search. 


The wounded spirit, the heart 




oppressed, 


Here would I stay, and let the 


Here may find the repose it 


world 


craves. 


With its distant thunder roar 




and roll ; 


See, how the ivy climbs and ex- 


Storms do not rend the sail that is 


pands 


furled ; 


Over this humble hermitage, 


Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and 


And seems to caress with its little 


whirled 


hands 


In an eddy of wind, is the 


The rough, gray stones, as a child 


anchored soul. 


that stands 




Caressing the wrinkled cheeks 


FOLK-SONGS 


of age ! 






THE SIFTING OF PETER 


You cross the threshold ; and dim 




and small 


In St. Luke's Gospel we are told 


Is the space that serves for the 


How Peter in the days of old 


Shepherd's Fold ; 


Was sifted ; 


The narrow aisle, the bare, white 


And now, though ages intervene, 


wall, 


Sin is the same, while time and 


The pews, and the pulpit quaint 


scene 


and tall, 


Are shifted. 


Whisper and say : ' Alas ! we are 




old.' 


Satan desires us, great and small, 




As wheat to sift us, and we all • 


Herbert's chapel at Bemerton 


Are tempted ; 


Hardly more spacious is than 


Not one, however rich or great, 


this; 


Is by his station or estate 


But poet and pastor, blent in one, 


Exempted. 


Clothed with a splendor, as of the 




sun, 


No house so safely guarded is 


That lowly and holy edifice. 


But he, by some device of his, 



452 



ULTIMA THULE 



Can enter ; 
No heart hath armor so complete 
But he can pierce with arrows fleet 

Its centre. 

For all at last the cock will crow, 
Who hear the warning voice, hut 
go 

Unheeding, 
Till thrice and more they have 

denied 
The Man of Sorrows, crucified 
And Weeding. 

One look of that pale, suffering 

face 
Will make us feel the deep dis- 
grace 

Of weakness ; 
We shall he sifted till the strength 
Of self-conceit he changed at 
length 

To meekness. 

Wounds of the soul, though 

healed, will ache ; 
The reddening scars remain, and 
make 

Confession ; 
Lost innocence returns no more ; 
We are not what we were before 
Transgression. 

But noble souls, through dust and 

heat, 
Rise from disaster and defeat 

The stronger ; 
And conscious still of the divine 
Within them, lie on earth supine 

No longer. 



MAIDEN AND WEATHER- 
COCK 

MAIDEN. 

O Weathercock on the village 

spire, 
With your golden feathers all on 

fire, 



Tell me, what can you see from 

your perch 
Above there over the tower of the 

church ? 

WEATHERCOCK. 

I can see the roofs and the streets 

below, 
And the people moving to and 

fro, 
And beyond, without either roof 

or street, 
The great salt sea, and the fisher- 

men's fleet. 

I can see a ship come sailing in 
Beyond the headlands and harbor 

of Lynn, 
And a young man standing on the 

deck, 
With a silken kerchief round his 

neck. 

Now he is pressing it to his lips, 

And now he is kissing his finger- 
tips, 

And now he is lifting and waving 
his hand, 

And blowing the kisses toward the 
land. 

MAIDEN. 

Ah, that is the ship from over the 

sea, 
That is bringing my lover back to 

me, 
Bringing my lover so fond and 

true, 
Who does not change with the 

wind like you. 

WEATHERCOCK. 

If I change with all the winds that 
blow, 

It is only because they made me 
so, 

And people would think it won- 
drous strange, 

If I, a Weathercock, should not 
change. 



MY CATHEDRAL 



453 



pretty Maiden, so fine and fair, 


THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE 


With your dreamy eyes and your 


FALLS 


golden hair, 




When you and your lover meet to- 


The tide rises, the tide falls, 


day 


The twilight darkens, the curlew 


You will thank me for looking 


calls ; 


some other way. 


Along the sea-sands damp and 




brown 


THE WINDMILL 


The traveller hastens toward the 




town, 


Behold ! a giant am I ! 


And the tide rises, the tide falls. 


Aloft here in my tower, 




With my granite jaws I devour 


Darkness settles on roofs and 


The maize, and the wheat, and the 


walls, 


rye, 


But the sea, the sea in the dark- 


And grind them into flour. 


ness calls ; 




The little waves, with their soft, 


I look down over the farms ; 


white hands, 


In the fields of grain I see 


Efface the footprints in the sands, 


The harvest that is to be, 


And the tide rises, the tide falls. 


And I fling to the air my arms, 




For I know it is all for me. 


The morning breaks; the steeds 




in their stalls 


I hear the sound of flails 


Stamp and neigh, as the hostler 


Far off, from the threshing- 


calls ; 


floors 


The day returns, but nevermore 


In barns, with their open 


Returns the traveller to the shore, 
AndTOe tide rises, the tide falls. 


doors, 


And the wind, the wind in my sails, 




Louder and louder roars. 


SONNETS 


I stand here in my place, 


MY CATHEDRAL 


With my foot on the rock be- 




low, 


Like two cathedral towers these 


And whichever way it may 


stately pines 


blow, 


Uplift their fretted summits 


I meet it face to face 


tipped with cones ; 


As a brave man meets his foe. 


The arch beneath them is not 




built with stones, 


And while we wrestle and strive, 


Not Art but Nature traced these 


My master, the miller, stands 


lovely lines, 


And feeds me with his hands ; 


And carved this graceful ara- 


For he knows who makes him 


besque of vines ; 


thrive, 


No organ but the wind here 


Who makes him lord of lands. 


sighs and moans, 




No sepulchre conceals a mar- 


On Sundays I take my rest ; 


tyr's bones, 


Church-going bells begin 


No marble bishop on his tomb 


Their low, melodious din ; 


reclines. 


I cross my arms on my breast, 


Enter! the pavement, carpeted 


And all is peace within. 


with leaves, 



454 



ULTIMA THULE 



Gives back a softened echo to 

thy tread ! 
Listen ! the choir is singing ; all 

the birds, 
In leafy galleries beneath the 

eaves, 
Are singing! listen, ere the 

sound be fled, 
And learn there may be worship 

without words. 



THE BUEIAL OF THE POET 

RICHARD HENRY DANA 

In the old churchyard of his na- 
tive town, 

And in the ancestral tomb be- 
side the wall, 

We laid him in the sleep that 
comes to all, 

And left him to his rest and his 
renown. 
The snow was falling, as if Hea- 
ven dropped clown 

White flowers of Paradise to 
strew his pall ; — 

The dead around him seamed to 
wake, and call 

His name, as worthy of so white 
a crown. 
And now the moon is shining on 
the scene, 

And the broad sheet of snow is 
written o'er 

With shadows cruciform of leaf- 
less trees, 
As once the winding-sheet of Sala- 
din 

With chapters of the Koran; 
but, ah ! more 

Mysterious and triumphant signs 
are these. 



NIGHT 

Into the darkness and the hush 
of night 
Slowly the landscape sinks, and 
fades away, 



And with it fade the phantoms of 

the day, 
The ghosts of men and things, 

that haunt the light. 
The crowd, the clamor, the pur. 

suit, the flight, 
The unprofitable splendor and 

display, 
The agitations, and the cares 

that prey 
Upon our hearts, all vanish out 

of sight. 
The better life begins ; the world 

no more 
Molests us; all its records we 

erase 
From the dull commonplace 

book of our lives, 
That like a palimpsest is written 

o'er 
With trivial incidents of time 

and place, 
And lo ! the ideal, hidden be- 
neath, revives. 



L'ENVOI 
THE POET AND HIS SONGS 

As the birds come in the Spring, 
We know not from where ; 

As the stars come at evening 
From depths of the air ; 

As the rain comes from the cloud, 
And the brook from the ground; 

As suddenly, low or loud, 
Out of silence a sound ; 

As the grape comes to the vine, 

The fruit to the tree ; 
As the wind comes to the pine, 

And the tide to the sea ; 

As come the white sails of ships 

O'er the ocean's verge ; 
As comes the smile to the lips, 

The foam to the surge ; 



THE POET'S CALENDAR 



455 



So come to the Poet his songs, 

All hitherward blown 
From the misty realm, that be- 



To the vast Unknown. 

His, and not his, are the lays 
He sings ; and their fame 



Is his, and not his ; and the praise 
And the pride of a name. 

For voices pursue him by day, 
And haunt him by night, 

And he listens, and needs must 
obey, 
When the Angel says, 'Write ! ' 



IN THE HARBOR 



BECALMED 

Becalmed upon the sea of 

Thought, ' 

Still unattained the land it sought, 
My mind, with loosely-hanging 

sails, 
Lies waiting the auspicious gales. 

On either side, behind, before, 
The ocean stretches like a floor, — 
A level floor of amethyst. 
Crowned by a golden dome of mist. 

Blow, breath of inspiration, blow ! 
Shake and uplift this golden glow ! 
And fill the canvas of the mind 
With wafts of thy celestial wind. . 

Blow, breath of song ! until I feel 
The straining sail, the lifting keel, 
The life of the awakening sea, 
Its motion and its mystery ! 

THE POET'S CALENDAR 
JANUARY 

Janus am I ; oldest of potentates ; 
Forward I look, and backward, 
and below 
I count, as god of avenues and 
gates, 
The years that through my por- 
tals come and go. 
I block the roads, and drift the 
fields with snow ; 



I chase the wild-fowl from the 

frozen fen ; 
My frosts congeal the rivers in 

their flow, 
My fires light up the hearths and 

hearts of men. 

FEBRUARY 

I am lustration ; and the sea is 
mine ! 
I wash the sands and headlands 
with my tide ; 
My brow is crowned with branches 
of the pine ; 
Before my chariot-wheels the 
fishes glide. 
By me all things unclean are puri- 
fied, 
By me the souls of men washed 
white again ; 
E'en the unlovely tombs of those 
who died 
Without a dirge, I cleanse from 
every stain. 

MARCH 

I Martius am ! Once first, and 
now the third ! 
To lead the Year was my ap- 
pointed place ; 

A mortal dispossessed me by a 
word, 
And set there Janus with the 
double face. 

Hence I make war on all the 
human race ; 



456 



IN THE HARBOR 



I shake the cities with my hurri- 


And scents, the fragrance of the 


canes ; 


blossoming vine, 


I flood the rivers and their banks 


The foliage of the valleys and 


efface, 


the heights. 


And drown the farms and ham- 


Mine are the longest days, the 


lets with my rains. 


loveliest nights ; 




The mower's scythe makes mu- 


APRIL 


sic to my ear ; 




I am the mother of all dear de- 


I open wide the portals of the 


lights ; 


Spring 


I am the fairest daughter of the 


To welcome the procession of 


year. 


the flowers, 




With their gay banners, and the 




birds that sing 


JULY 


Their song of songs from their 




aerial towers. 


My emblem is the Lion, and I 


I soften with my sunshine and my 


breathe 


showers 


The breath of Libyan deserts 


The heart of earth; with 


o'er the land; 


thoughts of love I glide 


My sickle as a sabre I unsheathe, 


Into the hearts of men ; and with 


And bent before me the pale 


the Hours 


harvests stand. 


Upon the Bull with wreathed 


The lakes and rivers shrink at my 


horns I ride. 


command, 




And there is thirst and fever in 


MAY 


the air ; 

The sky is changed to brass, the 


Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl 


earth to sand ; 


loud proclaim 


I am the Emperor whose name 


My coming, and the swarming 


I bear. 


of the bees. 




These are my heralds, and be- 




hold ! my name 


AUGUST 


Is written in blossoms on the 




hawthorn-trees. 


The Emperor Octavian, called the 


I tell the mariner when to sail the 


August, 


seas; 


I being his favorite, bestowed 


I waft o'er all the land from far 


his name 


away 


Upon me, and I hold it still in 


The breath and bloom of the Hes- 


trust, 


perides, 


In memory of him and of his 


My birthplace. I am Maia. I 


fame. 


am May. 


I am the Virgin, and my vestal 




flame 


JUNE 


Burns less intensely than the 




Lion's rage ; 


Mine is the Month of Roses ; yes, 


Sheaves are my only garlands, and 


and mine 


I claim 


The Month of Marriages! All 


The golden Harvests as my heri- 


pleasant sights 


tage. 



THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON 



457 



SEPTEMBER 


I shroud myself in gloom ; and tr 




the race 


I bear the Scales, where hang in 


Of mortals bring nor comfort nor 


equipoise 


delight. 


The night and day ; and when 




unto my lips 


DECEMBER 


I put my trumpet, with its stress 




and noise 


Eiding upon the Goat, with snow- 


Fly the white clouds like tat- 


white hair, 


tered sails of ships ; 


I come, the last of all. This 


The tree-tops lash the air with 


crown of mine 


sounding whips ; 


Is of the holly ; in my hand I bear 


Southward the clamorous sea- 


Thy thyrsus, tipped with fra- 


fowl wing their flight ; 


grant cones of pine. 


The hedges are all red with haws 


I celebrate the birth of the Divine, 


and hips, 


And the return of the Saturnian 


The Hunter's Moon reigns em- 


reign ; 


press of the night. 


My songs are carols sung at every 




shrine, 


OCTOBER 


Proclaiming 'Peace on earth, 




good will to men.' 


My ornaments are fruits ; my gar- 




ments leaves, 




Woven like cloth of gold, and 


AUTUMN WITHIN 


crimson dyed ; 




I do not boast the harvesting of 


It is autumn ; not without, 


sheaves, 


But within me is the cold. 


O'er orchards and o'er vineyards 


Youth and spring are all about ; 


I preside. 


It is I that have grown old. 


Though on the frigid Scorpion I 




ride, 


Birds are darting through the 


The dreamy air is full, and over- 


air, 


flows 


Singing, building without rest ; 


"With tender memories of the sum- 


Life is stirring everywhere, 


mer-tide, 


Save within my lonely breast. 


And mingled voices of the doves 




and crows. 


There is silence : the dead leaves 




Fall and rustle and are still ; 


NOVEMBER 


Beats no flail upon the sheaves, 




Comes no murmur from the mill. 


The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I, 




Born of Ixion's and the cloud's 




embrace ; 


THE FOUE LAKES OF MADI- 


With sounding hoofs across the 


SON 


earth I fly, 




A steed Thessalian with a hu- 


Four limpid lakes, — four Naiades 


man face. 


Or sylvan deities are these, 


Sharp winds the arrows are with 


In flowing robes of azure 


which I chase 


dressed ; 


The leaves, half dead already 


Four lovely handmaids, that up- 


with affright ; 


hold 



458 



IN THE HARBOR 



Their shining mirrors, rimmed 
with gold, 
To the fair city in the West. 

By day the coursers of the sun 
Drink of these waters as they run 

Their swift diurnal round on 
high; 
By night the constellations glow 
Far down the hollow deeps below, 

And glimmer in another sky. 

Fair lakes, serene and full of light, 
Fair town, arrayed in robes of 
white, 

How visionary ye appear ! 
All like a floating landscape seems 
In cloud-land or the land of dreams, 

Bathed in a golden atmosphere ! 



VICTOR AND VANQUISHED 

As one who long hath fled with 

panting breath 
Before his foe, bleeding and near 

to fall, 
I turn and set my back against 

the wall, 
And look thee in the face, trium- 
phant Death. 
I call for aid, and no one answer- 

eth; 
I am alone with thee, who con- 

querest all ; 
Yet me thy threatening form 

doth not appall, 
For thou art but a phantom and 

a wraith. 
Wounded and weak, sword broken 

at the hilt, 
With armor shattered, and with- 
out a shield, 
I stand unmoved; do with me 

what thou wilt ; 
( can resist no more, but will not 

yield. 
This is no tournament where 

cowards tilt ; 
The vanquished here is victor of 

the field. 



MOONLIGHT 

As a pale phantom with a lamp 
Ascends some ruin's haunted 
stair, 

So glides the moon along the damp 
Mysterious chambers of the air. 

Now hidden in cloud, and now re- 
vealed, 
As if this phantom, full of pain, 
Were by the crumbling walls con- 
cealed, 
And at the windows seen again. 

Until at last, serene and proud 
In all the splendor of her light, 

She walks the terraces of cloud, 
Supreme as Empress of the 
Night. 

I look, but recognize no more 
Objects familiar to my view ; 

The very pathway to my door 
Is an enchanted avenue. 

All things are changed. One mass 
of shade, 
The elm -trees drop their cur- 
tains down ; 
By palace, park, and colonnade 
I walk as in a foreign town. 

The very ground beneath my feet 

Is clothed with a diviner air ; 
While marble paves the silent 
street 
And glimmers in the empty 
square. 

Illusion ! Underneath there lies 
The common life of every day ; 

Only the spirit glorifies 
With its own tints the sober gray. 

In vain we look, in vain uplift 
Our eyes to heaven, if we are 
blind ; 
We see but what we have the gift 
Of seeing; what we bring we 
find. 



THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 



459 



THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 
. [A FRAGMENT] 



What is this I read in history, 
Full of marvel, full of mystery, 
Difficult to understand ? 
Is it fiction, is it truth ? 
Children in the flower of youth, 
Heart in heart, and hand in hand, 
Ignorant of what helps or harms, 
Without armor, without arms, 
Journeying to the Holy Land ! 

Who shall answer or divine ? 10 
Never since the world was made 
Such a wonderful crusade 
Started forth for Palestine. 
Never while the world shall last 
Will it reproduce the past ; 
Never will it see again 
Such an army, such a band, 
Over mountain, over main, 
Journeying to the Holy Land. 19 

Like a shower of blossoms blown 
From the parent trees were they ; 
Like a flock of birds that fly 
Through the unfrequented sky, 
Holding nothing as their own, 
Passed they into lands unknown, 
Passed to suffer and to die. 

O the simple, child-like trust ! 
O the faith that could believe 
What the harnessed, iron-mailed 
Knights of Christendom had 

failed, 30 

By their prowess, to achieve, 
They, the children, could and 

must! 

Little thought the Hermit, preach- 
ing 
Holy Wars to knight and baron, 
That the words dropped in his 

teaching, 
His entreaty, his beseeching. 
Would by children's hands be 
gleaned, 



And the staff on which he leaned 
Blossom like the rod of Aaron. 

As a summer wind upheaves 40 

The innumerable leaves 

In the bosom of a wood, — 

Not as separate leaves, but massed 

All together by the blast,— 

So for evil or for good 

His resistless breath upheaved 

All at once the many-leaved, 

Many-thoughted multitude. 

In the tumult of the air 

Rock the boughs with all the 

nests 50 

Cradled on their tossing crests ; 
By the fervor of his prayer 
Troubled hearts were everywhere 
Rocked and tossed in human 

breasts. 

For a century, at least, 

His prophetic voice had ceased ; 

But the air was heated still 

By his lurid words and will, 

As from fires in far-off woods, 

In the autumn of the year, 60 

An unwonted fever broods 

In the sultry atmosphere. 

11 

In Cologne the bells were ringing, 
In Cologne the nuns were singing 
Hymns and canticles divine ; 
Loud the monks sang in their 

stalls, 
And the thronging streets were 

loud 
With the voices of the crowd ; — 
Underneath the city walls 
Silent flowed the river Rhine. 70 

From the gates, that summer 

day, 
Clad in robes of hodden gray, 
With the red cross on the breast, 
Azure-eyed and golden-haired, 
Forth the young crusaders fared •, 
While above the band devoted 
Consecrated banners floated, 



460 



IN THE HARBOR 



Fluttered many a flag and 

streamer, 
And the cross o'er all the rest ! 
Singing lowly, meekly, slowly, 80 
4 Give us, give us back the holy 
Sepulchre of the Redeemer ! ' 
On the vast procession pressed, 
Youths and maidens. . . . 

in 
Ah ! what master hand shall paint 
How they journeyed on their way, 
How the days grew long and 

dreary, 
How their little feet grew weary, 
How their little hearts grew faint ! 

Ever swifter day by day 90 

Flowed the homeward river ; ever 
More and more its whitening cur- 
rent 
Broke and scattered into spray, 
Till the calmly-flowing river 
Changed into a mountain torrent, 
Rushing from its glacier green 
Down through chasm and black 
ravine. 

Like a phoenix in its nest, 
Burned the red sun in the West, 
Sinking in an ashen cloud ; 100 
In the East, above the crest 
Of the sea-like mountain chain, 
Like a phoenix from its shroud, 
Came the red sun back again. 

Now around them, white with 

snow, 
Closed the mountain peaks. Be- 
low, 
Headlong from the precipice 
Down into the dark abyss, 
Plunged the cataract, white with 

foam; 
And it said, or seemed to say : no 
' Oh return, while yet you may, 
Foolish children, to your home, 
There the Holy City is ! ' 

But the dauntless leader said : 
'Faint not, though your bleeding 
feet 



O'er these slippery paths of sleet 
Move but painfully and slowly ; 
Other feet than yours have bled ; 
Other tears than yours been shed. 
Courage ! lose not heart or hope ; 
On the mountains' southern slope 
Lies Jerusalem the Holy ! ' 122 
As a white rose in its pride, 
By the wind in summer-tide 
Tossed and loosened from the 

branch, 
Showers its petals o'er the ground, 
From the distant mountain's side, 
Scattering all its snows around, 
With mysterious, muffled sound, 
Loosened, fell the avalanche. 130 
Voices, echoes far and near, 
Boar of winds and waters blend- 
ing, 
Mists uprising, clouds impending. 
Filled them with a sense of fear, 
Formless, nameless, never end- 
ing. 



SUNDOWN 

The summer sun is sinking low ; 
Only the tree - tops redden and 

glow: 
Only the weathercock on the spire 
Of the neighboring church is a 

flame of fire ; 
All is in shadow below. 

O beautiful, awful summer day, 
What hast thou given, what taken 

away? 
Life and death, and love and hate, 
Homes made happy or desolate, 
Hearts made sad or gay ! 

On the road of life one mile-stone 

more ! 
In the book of life one leaf turned 

o'er! 
Like a red seal is the siting' 

sun •> 

On the good and the evil men have 

done, — 
Naught can to-day restore ! 






AUF WIEDERSEHEN 



401 



CHIMES 


AUF WIEDERSEHEN 


Sweet chimes! that in the lone- 


IN MEMORY OF J. T. F. 


liness of night 


Until we meet again! That is 


Salute the passing hour, and in 


the meaning 


. the dark 


Of the familiar words, that men re- 


And silent chambers of the 


peat 


household mark 


At parting in the street. 


The movements of the myriad 


Ah yes, till then ! but when death 


orbs of light ! 


intervening 


Through my closed eyelids, by the 


Rends us asunder, with what cease- 


inner sight, 


less pain 


I see the constellations in the 

arc 
Of their great circles moving on, 


We wait for the Again ! 


The friends who leave us do not 


and hark ! 


feel the sorrow 


I almost hear them singing in 


Of parting, as we feel it, who must 


their flight. 


stay 


Better than sleep it is to lie 


Lamenting day by day, 


awake, 


And knowing, when we wake upon 


O'er-canopied by the vast starry 


the morrow, 


dome 


We shall not find in its accus- 


Of the immeasurable sky ; to feel 


tomed place 


The slumbering world sink under 


The one beloved face. 


us, and make 




Hardly an eddy, — a mere rush 


It were a double grief, if the de- 


of foam 


parted, 


On the great sea beneath a sink- 


Being released from earth, should 


ing keel. 


still retain 




A sense of earthly pain ; 




It were a double grief, if the true- 


FOUR BY THE CLOCK 


hearted, 




Who loved us here, should on the 


'Nahant, September 8, 1880, four 


farther shore 


o'clock in the morning.' 


Remember us no more. 


Four by the clock ! and yet not 


Believing, in the midst of our af- 


day; 


flictions, 


But the great world rolls and 


That death is a beginning, not an 


wheels away, 


end, 


With its cities on land, and its 


We cry to them, and send 


ships at sea, 


Farewells, that better might be 


Into the dawn that is to be ! 


called predictions, 




Being fore-shadowings of the fu- 


Only the lamp in the anchored 


ture, thrown 


bark 


Into the vast Unknown. 


Sends its glimmer across the dark, 




And'tie heavy breathing of the 


Faith overleaps the confines of 


sea 


our reason, 


Is the only sound that comes to 


And if by faith, as in old times 


me. 


was said, 



462 ' IN THE HARBOR 



Women received their dead 
Raised up to life, then only for a 



Our partings are, nor shall 
wait in vain 
Until we meet again ! 



ELEGIAC VERSE 

I 
Perad venture of old, some hard in Ionian Islands, 

Walking alone by the sea, hearing the wash of the waves, 
Learned the secret from them of the beautiful verse elegiac, 

Breathing into his song motion and sound of the sea. 

For as the wave of the sea, upheaving in long undulations, 
Plunges loud on the sands, pauses, and turns, and retreats, 

So the Hexameter, rising and singing, with cadence sonorous, 
Falls ; and in refluent rhythm back the Pentameter flows. 



Not in his youth alone, but in age, may the heart of the poet 
Bloom into song, as the gorse blossoms in autumn and spring. 



Not in tenderness wanting, yet rough are the rhymes of our poet; 
Though it be Jacob's voice, Esau's, alas ! are the hands. 

IV 

Let us be grateful to writers for what is left in the inkstand ; 
When to leave off is an art only attained by the few. 

v 
How can the Three be One ? you ask me ; I answer by asking, 
Hail and snow and rain, are they not three, and yet one ? 

VI 

By the mirage uplifted, the land floats vague in the ether, 
Ships and the shadows of ships hang in the motionless air; 

So by the art of the poet our common life is uplifted, 
So, transfigured, the world floats in a luminous haze. 

VII 

Like a French poem is Life ; being only perfect in structure 
When with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are. 

VIII 

Down from the mountain descends the brooklet, rejoicing in free 
dom; 

Little it dreams of the mill hid in the valley below ; 
Glad with the joy of existence, the child goes singing and laughing, 

Little dreaming what toils lie in the future concealed. 



MEMORIES 



463 



As the ink from our pen, so flow our thoughts and our feelings 
When we begin to write, however sluggish before. 



Like the Kingdom of Heaven, the Fountain of Youth is within us ; 
If we seek it elsewhere, old shall we grow in the search. 



If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it ; 
Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth. 



Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language ; 
While we are speaking the word, it is already the Past. 



In the twilight of age all things seem strange and phantasmal, 
As between daylight and dark ghost-like the landscape appears. 



Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending ; 
Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse. 



THE CITY AND THE SEA 

The panting City cried to the Sea, 
1 1 am faint with heat,— Oh breathe 
on me ! ' 

And the Sea said, « Lo, I breathe ! 

but my breath 
To some will be life, to others 

death ! ' 

As to Prometheus, bringing ease 
In pain, come the Oceanides, 

So to the City, hot with the flame 
Of the pitiless sun, the east wind 
came. 

It came from the heaving breast 

of the deep, 
Silent as dreams are, and sudden 

as sleep. 

Life-giving, death-giving, which 

will it be ; 
breath of the merciful, merciless 

Sea? 



MEMOKIES 

Oft I remember those whom I 

have known 
In other days, to whom my heart 

was led 
As by a magnet, and who are 

not dead, 
But absent, and their memories 

overgrown 
With other thoughts and troubles 

of my own, 
As graves with grasses are, and 

at their head 
The stone with moss and lichens 

so o'er-spread, 
Nothing is legible but the name 

alone. 
And is it so with them? After 

long years, 
Do they remember me in the 

same way, 
And is the memory pleasant afc) 

tome? 
I fear to ask ; yet wherefore are 

my fears ? 



464 



IN THE HARBOR 



Pleasures, like flowers, may 

wither and decay, 
And yet the root perennial may 

be. 



HERMES TRISMEGISTUS 

As Seleucus narrates, Hermes de- 
scribes the principles that rank as 
wholes in two myriads of books ; or, as 
we are informed by Manetho, he per- 
fectly unfolded these principles in 
three myriads six thousand five hun- 
dred and twenty-five volumes. . . . 

. . . Our ancestors dedicated the in- 
ventions of their wisdom to this deity, 
inscribing all their own writings with 
the name of Hermes. — Iamblicus. 

Still through Egypt's desert 
places 
Flows the lordly Nile, 
From its banks the great stone 
faces 
Gaze with patient smile. 
Still the pyramids imperious 

Pierce the cloudless skies, 
And the Sphinx stares with mys- 
terious, 
Solemn, stony eyes. 

But where are the old Egyptian 

Demi-gods and kings ? 10 

Nothing left but an inscription 

Graven on stones and rings. 
Where are Helios and Hephsestus, 

Gods of eldest eld? 
Where is Hermes Trismegistus, 

Who their secrets held? 

Where are now the many hun- 
dred 

Thousand books he wrote? 
By the Thaumaturgists plundered, 

Lost in lands remote ; 20 

In oblivion sunk forever, 

As when o'er the land 
Blows a storm-wind, in the river 

Sinks the scattered sand. 

Something unsubstantial, ghostly, 
Seems this Theurgist, 



In deep meditation mostly 
Wrapped, as in a mist. 

Vague, phantasmal, and unreal 
To our thought he seems, 30 

Walking in a world ideal, 
In a land of dreams. 

Was he one, or many, merging 

Name and fame in one, 
Like a stream, to which, conver- 
ging, ' 
Many streamlets run ? 
Till, with gathered power proceed- 
ing, 
Ampler sweep it takes, 
Downward the sweet waters lead- 



ing 
From unnumbered lakes. 



40 



By the Nile I see him wandering, 

Pausing now and then, 
On the mystic union pondering 

Between gods and men ; 
Half believing, wholly feeling, 

With supreme delight, 
How the gods, themselves conceal- 
ing, 

Lift men to their height. 

Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated, 

In the thoroughfare 50 

Breathing, as if consecrated, 

A diviner air ; 
And amid discordant noises, 

In the jostling throng, 
Hearing far, celestial voices 

Of Olympian song. 

Who shall call his dreams falla- 
cious ? 

Who has searched or sought 
All the unexplored and spacious 

Universe of thought ? 60 

Who, in his own skill confiding, 

Shall with rule and line 
Mark the border-land dividing 

Human and divine? 

Trismegistus! three times greats 
est! 
How thy name sublime 



MY BOOKS 



465 



Has descended to this latest 

Progeny of time ! 
Happy they whose written pages 

Perish with their lives, 70 

If amid the crumbling ages 

Still their name survives ! 

Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately 

Found I in the vast, 
Weed-encumbered, sombre, state- 
ly, 

Grave-yard of the Past ; 
And a presence moved before me 

On that gloomy shore, 
As a waft of wind, that o'er me 

Breathed, and was no more. 80 



TO THE AVON 

Flow on, sweet river ! like his 

verse 
Who lies beneath this sculptured 

hearse ; 
Nor wait beside the churchyard 

wall 
For him who cannot hear thy call. 

Thy playmate once ; I see him now 
A boy with sunshine on his brow, 
And hear in Stratford's quiet 

street 
The patter of his little feet. 

I see him by thy shallow edge 
Wading knee -deep amid the 

sedge ; 
.And lost in thought, as if thy 

stream 
Were the swift river of a dream. 

He wonders whitherward it flows ; 

And fain would follow where it 
goes, 

To the wide world, that shall ere- 
long 

Be filled with his melodious song. 

Flow on, fair stream ! That dream 

is o'er; 
He stands upon another shore ; 



A vaster river near him flows, 
And still he follows where it 
goes. 



PRESIDENT GARFIELD 

' E veuni dal martirio a questa pace.' 
Paradiso, XV. 148. 

These words the poet heard in 
Paradise, 

Uttered by one who, bravely dy- 
ing here, 

In the true faith was living in 
that sphere 

Where the celestial cross of sac- 
rifice 
Spread its protecting arms athwart 
the skies ; 

And set thereon, like jewels crys- 
tal clear, 

The souls magnanimous, that 
knew not fear, 

Flashed their effulgence on his 
dazzled eyes. 
Ah me ! how dark the discipline of 
pain, 

Were not the suffering followed 
' by the sense 

Of infinite rest and infinite re- 



This is our consolation ; and again 
A great soul cries to us in our 

suspense, 
1 1 came from martyrdom unto 
this peace ! ' 



MY BOOKS 

Sadly as some old mediseval 

knight 
Gazed at the arms he could no 

longer wield, 
The sword two-handed and the 

shining shield 
Suspended in the hall, and full in 

sight, 
While secret longings for the lost 

delight 



466 



IN THE HARBOR 



Of tourney or adventure in the 

field 
Came over him, and tears but 

half concealed 
Trembled and fell upon his 

beard of white, 
So I behold these books upon their 

shelf, 
My ornaments and arms of other 

days; 
Not wholly useless, though no 

longer used, 
For they remind me of my other 

self, 
Younger and stronger, and the 

pleasant ways 
In which I walked, now clouded 

and confused. 



MAD RIVER 

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 

TRAVELLER. 

■ 

Why dost thou wildly rush and 
roar, 
Mad River, O Mad River? 
Wilt thou not pause and cease to 

pour 
Thy hurrying", headlong waters 
o'er 
This rocky shelf forever ? 

What secret trouble stirs thy 
breast ? 
Why all this fret and flurry ? 
Dost thou not know that what is 

best 
In this too restless world is rest 
From over- work and worry ? 

THE RIVER. 

What wouldst thou in these moun- 
tains seek, 

O stranger from the city ? 
Is it perhaps some foolish freak 
Of thine, to put the words I speak 

Into a plaintive ditty? 



TRAVELLER. 

Yes ; I would learn of thee thy 
song, 

With all its flowing numbers, 
And in a voice as fresh and strong 
As thine is, sing it all day long, 

And hear it in my slumbers. 

THE RIVER. 

A brooklet nameless and unknown 

Was I at first, resembling 
A little child, that all alone 
Comes venturing down the stairs 
of stone, 
Irresolute and trembling. 

Later, by wayward fancies led, 

For the wide world I panted ; 
Out of the forest, dark and dread, 
Across the open fields I fled, 

Like one pursued and haunted. 

I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, 
My voice exultant blending 
With thunder from the passing 

cloud, 
The wind, the forest bent and 
bowed, 
The rush of rain descending. 

I heard the distant ocean call, 
Imploring and entreating ; 
Drawn onward, o'er this rocky 

wall 
I plunged, and the loud water- 
fall 
Made answer to the greeting. 

And now, beset with many ills, 

A toilsome life I follow ; 
Compelled to carry from the hills 
These logs to the impatient mills 
Below there in the hollow. 

Yet something ever cheers and 
charms 
The rudeness of my labors ; 
Daily I water with these arms 
The cattle of a hundred farms, 
And have the birds for neigh 
bors. 



LOSS AND GAIN 



46? 



Men call me Mad, and well they 


Where foes no more molest, 


may, 


Nor sentry's shot alarms ! 


When, full of rage and trouble, 




I burst my banks of sand and clay, 


Ye have slept on the ground be. 


And sweep their wooden bridge 


fore, 


away, 


And started to your feet 


Like withered reeds or stubble. 


At the cannon's sudden roar, 




Or the drum's redoubling beat 


Now go and write thy little rhyme, 




As of thine own creating. 


But in this camp of Death 


Thou seest the day is past its 


No sound your slumber breaks ; 


prime ; 


Here is no fevered breath, 


I can no longer waste my time ; 


No wound that bleeds and aches. 


The mills are tired of waiting. 






All is repose and peace, 


POSSIBILITIES 


Untrampled lies the sod ; 




The shouts of battle cease, 


Where are the Poets, unto whom 


It is the truce of God ! 


belong 




The Olympian heights ; whose 


Rest, comrades, rest and sleep ! 


singing shafts were sent 


The thoughts of men shall be 


Straight to the mark, and not 


As sentinels to keep 


from bows half bent, 


Your rest from danger free. 


But with the utmost tension of 




the thong ? 


Your silent tents of green 


Where are the stately argosies of 


We deck with fragrant flowers ; 


song, 


Yours has the suffering been, 


Whose rushing keels made mu- 


The memory shall be ours. 


sic as they went 




Sailing in search of some new 




continent, 


A FRAGMENT 


With all sail set, and steady 




winds and strong? 


Awake ! arise ! the hour is late ! 


Perhaps there lives some dreamy 


Angels are knocking at thy door ! 


boy, untaught 


They are in haste and cannot 


In schools, some graduate of the 


wait, 


field or street, 


And once departed come no 


Who shall become a master of 


more. 


the art, 




An admiral sailing the high seas 


Awake ! arise ! the athlete's arm 


of thought, 


Loses its strength by too much 


Fearless at first, and steering 


rest; 


with his fleet 


The fallow land, the untilled farm 


For lands not yet laid down in 


Produces only weeds at best. 


any chart. 


j 


DECOKATION DAY 


-\j^LOSS AND GAIN 


Bleep, comrades, sleep and rest 


When I compare 


On this Field of the Grounded 


What I have lost with what I 


Arms, 


have gained, 



468 



IN THE HARBOR 



What I have missed with what 
attained, 
Little room do I find for pride. 

I am aware 
How many days have heen idly 

spent ; 
How like an arrow the good intent 
Has fallen short or been turned 
aside. 

But who shall dare 
To measure loss and gain in this 

wise? 
Defeat may he victory in disguise ; 
The lowest ebb is the turn of the 
tide. 



INSCRIPTION ON THE 
SHANKLIN FOUNTAIN 

O traveller, stay thy weary 

feet; 
Drink , of this fountain, pure and 
sweet ; 
It flows for rich and poor the 
same. 
Then go thy way, remembering still 
The wayside well beneath the hill, 
The cup of water in his name. 



THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS 

What say the Bells of San Bias 
To the ships that southward pass 
From the harbor of Mazatlan ? 
To them it is nothing more 
Than the sound of surf on tbe 
shore, — 
Nothing more to master or 
man. 

But to me, a dreamer of dreams, 
To whom what is and what seems 

Are often one and the same, — 
The Bells of San Bias to me 
Have a strange, wild melody, 

And are something more than 
a name. 



For bells are the voice of the 

church; 
They have tones that touch and 
search 
The hearts of young and old; 
One sound to all, yet each 
Lends a meaning to their speech, 
And the meaning is manifold. 

They are a voice of the Past, 
Of an age that is fading fast, 

Of a power austere and grand ; 
When the flag of Spain unfurled 
Its folds o'er this western world, 

And the Priest was lord of the 
land. 

The chapel that once looked down 
On the little seaport town 

Has crumbled into the dust ; 
And on oaken beams below 
The bells swing to and fro, 

And are green with mould and 
rust. 

' Is, then, the old faith dead,' 
They say, ' and in its stead 

Is some new faith proclaimed, 
That we are forced to remain 
Naked to sun and rain, 

Unsheltered and ashamed ? 

' Once in our tower aloof 
We rang over wall and roof 

Our warnings and our com- 
plaints ; 
And round about us there 
The white doves filled the air, 
Like the white souls of the 
saints. 

' The saints ! Ah, have they grown 
Forgetful of their own ? 

Are they asleep, or dead, 
That open to the sky 
Their ruined .Missions lie, 

No longer tenanted ? 

4 Oh, bring us back once more 
The vanished days of yore, 



FRAGMENTS 



469 



"When the world with faith was 
filled; 
Bring back the fervid zeal, 
The hearts of fire and steel, 

The hands that believe and 
build. 

' Then from our tower again 
We will send over land and main 

Our voices of command, 
Like exiled kings who return 
To their thrones, and the people 
learn 
That the Priest is lord of the 
land ! ' 

O Bells of San Bias, in vain 
Ye call back the Past again ! 

The Past is deaf to your 
prayer ; 
Out of the shadows of night 
The world rolls into light ; 

It is daybreak everywhere. 



FKAGMENTS 

October 22, 1833. 
Neglected record of a mind 

neglected, 
Unto what 'lets and stops' art 

thou subjected ! 
The day with all its toils and occu- 
pations, 
The night with its reflections and 

sensations, 
The future, and the present, and 

the past, — 
All I remember, feel, and hope at 

last, 
All shapes of joy and sorrow, as 

they pass,— 
Find but a dusty image in this 

glass. 

August 18, 1847. 

O faithful, indefatigable tides, 
That evermore upon God's errands 
go,- 



Now seaward bearing tidings of 
the land, — 

Now landward bearing tidings of 
the sea, — 

And filling every frith and estuary, 

Each arm of the great sea, each 
little creek, 

Each thread and filament of wa- 
ter-courses, 

Full with your ministration of de- 
light ! 

Under the rafters of this wooden 
bridge 

I see you come and go ; sometimes 
in haste 

To reach your journey's end, which 
being done 

With feet unrested ye return again 

And recommence the never-ending 
task; 

Patient, whatever burdens ye may 
bear, 

And fretted only by the impeding 
rocks. 

December 18, 1847. 

Soft through the silent air descend 

the feathery snow-flakes ; 
"White are the distant hills, white 

are the neighboring fields ; 
Only the marshes are brown, and 

the river rolling among them 
Weareth the leaden hue seen in the 

eyes of the blind. 

August 4, 1856. 

A lovely morning, without the 
glare of the sun, the sea in great 
commotion, chafing and foaming. 

So from the bosom of darkness 
our days come roaring and 
gleaming, 

Chafe and break into foam, sink 
into darkness again. 
But on the shores of Time each 
leaves some trace of its pas- 
sage, 

Though the succeeding wave 
washes it out from the sand. 



47° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



INTKOITUS 

The Angel bearing the Prophet 
Habakkuk through the air. 

PROPHET. 

Why dost thou bear me aloft, 

Angel of God, on thy pinions 
O'er realms and dominions? 
Softly I float as a cloud 

In air, for thy right hand upholds 

me, 
Thy garment enfolds me ! 

ANGEL. 

Lo ! as I passed on my way 
In the harvest-field I heheld thee, 
When no man compelled thee, 
Bearing with thine own hands 10 
This food to the famishing reapers, 
A flock without keepers ! 

The fragrant sheaves of the wheat 
Made the air above them sweet ; 
Sweeter and more divine 
Was the scent of the scattered 

grain, 
That the reaper's hand let fall 
To be gathered again 
By the hand of the gleaner ! 
Sweetest, divinest of all, 20 

Was the humble deed of thine, 
And the meekness of thy de- 
meanor ! 

PROPHET. 

Angel of Light, 

1 cannot gainsay thee, 
I can but obey thee ! 

ANGEL. 

Beautiful was it in the Lord's 

sight, 
To behold his Prophet 
Feeding those that toil, 
Ihe tillers of the soil. 



But why should the reapers eat of 

it 30 

And not the Prophet of Zion 
In the den of the lion? 
The Prophet should feed the 

Prophet ! 
Therefore I thee have uplifted, 
And bear thee aloft by the hair 
Of thy head, like a cloud that is 

drifted 
Through the vast unknown of the 

air! 

Five days hath the Prophet been 
lying 

In Babylon, in the den 

Of the lions, death-defying, 40 

Defying hunger and thirst ; 

But the worst 

Is the mockery of men ! 

Alas ! how full of fear 

Is the fate of Prophet and Seer ! 

Forevermore, forevermore, 

It shall be as it hath been hereto- 
fore; 

The age in which they live 

Will not forgive 

The splendor of the everlasting 
light, 50 

That makes their foreheads bright, 

Nor the sublime 

Fore-running of their time ! 

PROPHET. 

Oh tell me, r for thou knowest, 
Wherefore and by what grace, 
Have I, who am least and lowest, 
Been chosen to this place, 
To this exalted part? 

ANGEL. 

Because thou art 59 

The Straggler ; and from thy youth 
Thy humble and patient life 
Hath been a strife 
And battle for the Truth ; 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



471 



Nor hast thou paused nor halted, 
Nor ever in thy pride 
Turned from the poor aside, 
But with deed and word and pen 
Hast served thy fellow-men ; 
Therefore art thou exalted ! 

PROPHET. 

By thine arrow's light 70 

Thou goest onward through the 

night, 
And hy the clear 
Sheen of thy glittering spear ! 
When will our journey end? 

ANGEL. 

Lo, it is ended! 

Yon silver gleam 

Is the Euphrates' stream. 

Let us descend 

Into the city splendid, 

Into the City of Gold ! 80 

PROPHET. 

Behold ! 

As if the stars had fallen from 

their places 
Into the firmament below, 
The streets, the gardens, and the 

vacant spaces 
With light are all aglow; 
And hark ! 
As we draw near, 
What sound is it I hear 
Ascending through the dark? 

ANGEL. 

The tumultuous noise of the na- 
tions, 90 
Their rejoicings and lamentations, 
The pleadings of their prayer, 
The groans of their despair, 
The cry of their imprecations. 
Their wrath, their love, their hate ! 

PROPHET. 

Surely the world doth wait 
The coming of its Redeemer ! 

ANGEL. 

Awake from thy sleep, O dreamer ! 
The hour is near, though late •, qq 



Awake ! write the vision sublime, 
The vision, that is for a time, 
Though it tarry, wait ; it is nigh ; 
In the end it will speak and not 
he. 



PART ONE 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



THE FIRST PASSOVER 



VOX CLAMANTIS 
JOHN THE BAPTIST. 

Repent ! repent ! repent ! 

For the kingdom of God is at hand, 

And all the land 

Full of the knowledge of the Lord 

shall be 
As the waters cover the sea, 
And encircle the continent ! 

Repent! repent! repent! 

For lo, the hour appointed, 

The hour so long foretold 

By the Prophets of old, 10 

Of the coming of the Anointed, 

The Messiah, the Paraclete, 

The Desire of the Nations, is nigh ! 

He shall not strive nor cry, 

Nor his voice be heard in the 

street ; 
Nor the bruised reed shall He 

break, 
Nor quench the smoking flax ; 
And many of them that sleep 
In the dust of earth shall awake, 
On that great and terrible day, 20 
And the wicked shall wail and 

weep, 
And be blown like a smoke away, 
And be melted away like wax. 
Repent! repent! repent! 
O Priest, and Pharisee, 
Who hath warned you to flee 
From the wrath that is to be ? 
From the coming anguish and ire 7 
The axe is laid at the root 



472 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Of the trees, and every tree 30 


JOHN. 


That bringeth not forth good fruit 


Nay. 


Is hewn down and cast into the 
fire! 


I am not he thou namest! 


PRIEST. 


Ye Scribes, why come ye hither? 


Who art thou, and what is the word 


In the hour that is uncertain, 


That here thou proclaimest? 


In the day of anguish and trou- 




ble, 


JOHN. 


He that stretcheth the heavens as 


I am the voice of one 


a curtain 


Crying in the wilderness alone : 


And spreadeth them out as a 


Prepare ye the way of the Lord; 


tent, 


Make his paths straight 


Shall blow upon you, and ye shall 


In the land that is desolate ! 70 


wither, 




And the whirlwind shall take you 


PRIEST. 


away as stubble ! 


If thou be not the Christ, 


Repent! repent! repent! 40 


Nor yet Elias, nor he 




That, in sign of the things to be, 


PRIEST. 


Shattered the vessel of clay 


"Who art thou, man of prayer ! 


In the Valley of Slaughter, 


In raiment of camel's hair, 


Then declare unto us, and say 


Begirt with leathern thong, 


By what authority now 


That here in the wilderness, 


Baptizeth thou ? 


With a cry as of one in distress, 




Preachest unto this throng? 


JOHN. 


Art thou the Christ? 


I indeed baptize you with water 




Unto repentance ; but He, 80 


JOHK. 


That cometh after me, 


Priest of Jerusalem, 


Is mightier than I and higher ; 


In meekness and humbleness, 


The latchet of whose shoes 


I deny not, I confess 50 


I am not worthy to unloose ; 


I am not the Christ ! 


He shall baptize you with fire, 




And with the Holy Ghost ! 


PRIEST. 


Whose fan is in his hand ; 


What shall we say unto them 


He will purge to the uttermost 


That sent us here ? Reveal 


His floor, and garner his wheat, 89 


Thy name, and naught conceal t 


But will burn the chaff in the brand 


Art thou Elias ? 


And fire of unquenchable heat ! 


JOHN. 


Repent! repent! repent! 


No! 


II 


PRIEST. 


MOUNT QUARANTANIA 


Art thou that Prophet, then, 


I 


Of lamentation and woe, 


Who, as a symbol and sign 


LUCIFER. 


Of impending wrath divine 


Not in the lightning's flash, nor in 


Upon unbelieving men, 60 


the thunder, 


Shattered the vessel of clay 


Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy 


In the Valley of Slaughter? 


storm, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



473 



Will I array my form ; 
But part invisible these boughs 

asunder, 
And move and murmur, as the wind 
upheaves 
And whispers in the leaves. 

Not as a terror and a desolation, 

Not in my natural shape, inspiring 

fear ioo 

And dread, will I appear ; 

But in soft tones of sweetness and 

persuasion, 
A sound as of the fall of mountain 
streams, 
Or voices heard in dreams. 

He sitteth there in silence, worn 
and wasted 

With famine, and uplifts his hol- 
low eyes 
To the unpitying skies ; 

For forty days and nights he hath 
not tasted 

Of food or drink,. his parted lips 
are pale, 
Surely his strength must 
fail. no 

Wherefore dost thou in penitential 

fasting 
Waste and consume the beauty of 

thy youth ? 
Ah, if thou be in truth 
The Son of the Unnamed, the 

Everlasting, 
Command these stones beneath 

thy feet to be 
Changed into bread for thee ! 

CHRISTUS. 

♦Tis written: Man shall not live 

by bread alone, 
But by each word tbat from God's 

mouth proceedeth ! 

II 

LUCIFER. 

Too weak, alas ! too weak is the 
temptation 



For one whose soul to nobler 
things aspires 120 

Than sensual desires ! 
Ah, could I, by some sudden aber- 
ration, 
Lead and delude to suicidal death 
This Christ of Nazareth ! 

Unto the holy Temple on Moriah, 
With its resplendent domes, and 
manifold 
Bright pinnacles of gold, 
Where they await thy coming, O 

Messiah ! 
Lo, I have brought thee ! Let thy 
glory here 
Be manifest and clear. 130 

Reveal thyself by royal act and 
gesture 

Descending with the bright tri- 
umphant host 
Of all the highermost 

Archangels, and about thee as a 
vesture 

The shining clouds, and all thy 
splendors show 
Unto the world below ! 

Cast thyself down, it is the hour 

appointed ; 
And God hath given his angels 

charge and care 
To keep thee and upbear 
Upon their hands his only Son, the 

Anointed, 140 

Lest he should dash his foot 

against a stone 
And die, and be unknown. 

CHRISTUS. 

'T is written : Thou shalt not tempt 
the Lord thy God ! 

Ill 

LUCIFER. 

I cannot thus delude him to perdi- 
tion ! 

But one temptation still remains 
untried. 



474 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



The trial of his pride, 
The thirst of power, the fever of 

ambition ! 
Surely by these a humble peasant's 
son 
At last may be undone ! 

Above the yawning chasms and 
deep abysses, 150 

Across the headlong torrents, I 
have brought 
Thy footsteps, swift as 
thought ; 

And from the highest of these pre- 
cipices, 

The Kingdoms of the world thine 
eyes behold, 
Like a great map unrolled. 

From far-off Lebanon, with cedars 
crested, 

To where the waters of the As- 
phalt Lake 
On its white pebbles break, 

And the vast desert, silent, sand- 
invested, 

These kingdoms all are mine, and 
thine shall be, 160 

If thou wilt worship me ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Get thee behind me, Satan ! thou 

shalt worship 
The Lord thy God ; Him only shalt 

thou serve ! 

ANGELS MINISTRANT. 

The sun goes down; the evening 

shadows lengthen, 
The fever and the struggle of the 

day 
Abate and pass away ; 
Thine Angels Ministrant, we come 

to strengthen 
And comfort thee, and crown thee 

with the palm, 
The silence and the calm. 



Ill 

THE MARRIAGE IN CANA 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, 170 

Rise up, and come away, 

For lo ! the winter is past, 

The rain is over and gone, 

The flowers appear on the earth, 

The time of the singing of birds is 

come, 
And the voice of the turtle is heard 

in our land. 

THE BRIDEGROOM. 

Sweetly the minstrels sing the 

Song of Songs ! 
My heart runs forward with it, 

and I say : 
Oh set me as a seal upon thine 

heart, 
And set me as a seal upon thine 

arm ; x 8o 

For love is strong as life, and 

strong as death, 
And cruel as the grave is jealousy ! 

THE MUSICIANS. 

I sleep, but my heart awaketh; 
'T is the voice of my beloved 
Who knocketh, saying: Open to 

me, 
My sister, my love, my dove, 
For my head is filled with dew, 
My locks with the drops of the 

night ! 

THE BRIDE. 

Ah yes, I sleep, and yet my heart 

awaketh. 
It is the voice of my beloved who 

knocks. 190 

THE BRIDEGROOM. 

O beautiful as Rebecca at the 

fountain, 
O beautiful as Ruth among the 

sheaves ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



475 



fairest among women! unde- 


Clad all in white, with face and 


nted! 


beard like ashes, 


Thou art all fair, my love, there 's 


As if he were Elias, the White 


no spot in thee ! 


Witness, 




Come from his cave on Carmel to 


THE MUSICIANS. 


foretell 


My beloved is white and ruddy, 


The end of all things ? 


The chiefest among ten thousand ; 




His locks are black as a raven, 


PARANYMPHUS. 


His eyes are the eyes of doves, 


That is Manahem 


Of doves by the rivers of water, 


The Essenian, he who dwells 


His lips are like unto lilies, 200 


among the palms 219 


Dropping sweet-smelling myrrh. 


Near the Dead Sea. 


ARCHITRICLINUS. 


ARCHITRICLINUS. 


Who is that youth with the dark 


He who foretold to Herod 


azure eyes, 


He should one day be King? 


And hair, in color like unto the wine, 




Parted upon his forehead, and be- 


PAEANYMPHUS. 


hind 


The same. 


Falling in flowing locks ? 


ARCHITRIC LINUS. 


PARANYMPHUS. 


Then why 


The Nazarene 


Doth he come here to sadden with 


Who preacheth to the poor in field 


his presence 


and village 


Our marriage feast, belonging to a 


The coming of God's Kingdom. 


sect 




Haters of women, and that taste 


ARCHITRICLINUS. 


not wine ? 



How serene 
His aspect is ! manly yet womanly. 

PAEANYMPHUS. 

Most beautiful among the sons of 

men! 
Oft known to weep, but never 

known to laugh. 210 

ARCHITRIC LINUS. 

And tell me, she with eyes of olive 

tint, 
And skin as fair as wheat, and pale 

brown hair, 
The woman at his side ? 

PARANYMPHUS. 

His mother, Mary. 

ARCHITRICLINUS. 

And the tall figure standing close 
behind them, 



THE MUSICIANS. 

My undefiled is but one, 
The only one of her mother, 
The choice of her that bare her; 
The daughters saw her and blessed 

her; 
The queens and the concubines 

praised her ; 
Saying, Lo ! who is this 230 

That looketh forth as the morn- 
ing? 

manahem, aside. 
The Ruler of the Feast is gazing 

at me, 
As if he asked, why is that old 

man here 
Among the revellers? And thou, 

the Anointed ! 
Why art thou here ? I see as in a 

vision 



476 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A figure clothed in purple, crowned 
with thorns ; 

I see a cross uplifted in the dark- 
ness, 

And hear a cry of agony, that shall 
echo 

Forever and forever through the 
world ! 

ARCHITRICLHSTUS. 

Give us more wine. These gob- 
lets are all empty. 240 

MARY to CHRISTUS. 

They have no wine ! 

CHRISTUS. 

O woman, what have I 
To do with thee? Mine hour is 
not yet come. 

mary to the servants. 
Whatever he shall say to you, that 
do. 

CHRISTUS. 

Fill up these pots with water. 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Come, my beloved, 
Let us go forth into the field, 
Let us lodge in the villages ; 
Let us get up early to the vine- 
yards, 
Let us see if the vine flourish, 249 
Whether the tender grape appear, 
And the pomegranates bud forth. 

CHRISTUS. 

Draw out now 
And bear unto the Kuler of the 
Feast. 

mAnahem, aside. 
O thou, brought up among the Es- 

senians, 
Nurtured in abstinence, taste not 

the wine ! 
It is the poison of dragons from 

the vineyards 
Of Sodom, and the taste of death is 

in it! 



ARCHITRICLINUS to the BRIDE- 
GROOM. 

All men set forth good wine at the 

beginning, 
And when men have well drunk, 

that which is worse ; 
But thou hast kept the good wine 

until now. 

manahem, aside. 
The things that have been and 

shall be no more, 260 

The things that are, and that 

hereafter shall be, 
The things that might have been, 

and yet were not, 
The fading twilight of great joys 

departed, 
The daybreak of great truths as 

yet unrisen, 
The intuition and the expectation 
Of something, which, when come, 

is not the same. 
But only like its forecast in men's 

dreams, 
The longing, the delay, and the 

delight, 
Sweeter for the delay; youth, 

hope, love, death, 
And disappointment which is also 

death, 270 

All these make up the sum of hu- 
man life ; 
A dream within a dream, a wind 

at night 
Howling across the desert in de- 
spair, 
Seeking for something lost it can- 
not find. 
Fate or foreseeing, or whatever 

name 
Men call it, matters not ; what is 

to be 
Hath been fore - written in the 

thought divine 
From the beginning. None can 

hide from it, 
But it will find him out; nor run 

from it, 
But it o'ertaketh him ! The Lord 

hath said it. 280 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



477 



THE BRIDEGROOM to the BRIDE, 

on the balcony. 
When Abraham went with Sarah 

into Egypt, 
The land was all illumined with 

her beauty ; 
But thou dost make the very night 

itself 
Brighter than day ! Behold, in 

glad procession, 
Crowding the threshold of the sky 

above us, 
The stars come forth to meet thee 

with their lamps ; 
And the soft winds, the ambassa- 
dors of flowers, 
From neighboring gardens and 

from fields unseen, 
Come laden with odors unto thee, 

my Queen ! 

THE MUSICIANS. 

Awake, O north-wind, zqo 

And come, thou wind of the South. 
Blow, blow upon my garden, 
That the spices thereof may flow 
out. 



IV 

IN THE CORNFIELDS 

PHILIP. 

Onward through leagues of sun- 
illumined corn, 

As if through parted seas, the 
pathway runs, 

And crowned with sunshine as the 
Prince of Peace 

Walks the beloved Master, lead- 
ing us, 

As Moses led our fathers in old 
times 

Out of the land of bondage ! We 
have found 

Him of whom Moses and the Pro- 
phets wrote, 300 

Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Jo- 
seph. 



NATHANAEL. 

Can any good come out of Naza« 

reth? 
Can this be the Messiah? 

PHILIP. 

Come and see, 

NATHANAEL. 

The summer sun grows hot : I am 

anhungered. 
How cheerily the Sabbath-break- 

ing quail 
Pipes in the corn, and bids us to 

his Feast 
Of Wheat Sheaves! How the 

bearded, ripening ears 
Toss in the roofless temple of the 

air; 
As if the unseen hand of some 

High-Priest 
Waved them before Mount Tabor 

as an altar! 310 

It were no harm, if we should 

pluck and eat. 

PHILIP. 

How wonderful it is to walk 

abroad 
With the Good Master ! Since the 

miracle 
He wrought at Cana, at the mar- 
riage feast, 
His fame hath gone abroad through 

all the land, 
And when we come to Nazareth, 

thou shalt see 
How his own people will receive 

their Prophet, 
And hail him as Messiah ! See, he 

turns 
And looks at thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Behold an Israelite 
In whom there is no guile. 

NATHANAEL. 

Whence knowest thou me? 



478 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS. 


One in this place is greater than 


Before that Philip called thee, 


the Temple ! 340 


when thou wast 321 


And had ye known the meaning 


Under the fig-tree, I beheld thee. 


of the words, 




I will have mercy and not sacri- 


NATHANAEL. 


fice, 


Kabbi ! 


The guiltless ye would not con- 


Thou art the Son of God, thou art 


demn. The Sabbath 


the King 


Was made for man, and not man 


Of Israel ! 


for the Sabbath. 




Passes on with the disciples. 


CHRISTUS. 




Because I said I saw thee 


PHARISEES. 


Under the fig-tree, before Philip 


This is, alas! some poor demo- 


called thee, 


niac 


Believest thou? Thou shalt see 


Wandering about the fields, and 


greater things. 


uttering 


Hereafter thou shalt see the hea- 


His unintelligible blasphemies 


vens unclosed, 


Among the common people, who 


The angels of God ascending and 


receive 


descending 


As prophecies the words they com- 


Upon the Son of Man ! 


prehend not ! 




Deluded folk ! The incomprehen- 


Pharisees, passing. 


sible 350 


Hail, Kabbi ! 


Alone excites their wonder. There 




is none 


CHRISTUS. 


So visionary, or so void of sense, 


Hail! 


But he will find a crowd to follow 


PHARISEES. 


him! 


Behold how thy disciples do a 




thing 330 




Which is not lawful on the Sab- 


V 


bath-day, 




And thou forbiddest them not ! 


NAZARETH 


CHRISTUS. 


christus, reading in the Syna- 


Have ye not read 


gogue. 


"What David did when he anhun- 


The Spirit of the Lord God is upon 


gered was, 


me. 


And all they tbat were with him ? 


He hath anointed me to preach 


How he entered 


good tidings 


Into the house of God, and ate the 


Unto the poor ; to heal the broken- 


shew-bread, 


hearted ; 


Which was not lawful, saving for 


To comfort those that mourn, and 


the priests ? 


to throw open 


Have ye not read, how on the Sab- 


The prison doors of captives, and 


bath-days 


proclaim 


The priests profane the Sabbath 


The Year Acceptable of the Lord, 


in the Temple, 


our God ! 


And yet are blameless ? But I say 


He closes the book and sits down. 


to you, 








THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



479 



A PHARISEE. 

Who is this youth ? He hath taken 
the Teacher's seat ! 360 

"Will he instruct the Elders ? 

A PRIEST. 

Fifty years 
Have I heen Priest here in the 

Synagogue, 
And never have I seen so young 

a man 
Sit in the Teacher's seat ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Behold, to-day 
This scripture is fulfilled. One is 

appointed 
And hath been sent to them that 

mourn in Zion, 
To give them beauty for ashes, and 

the oil 
Of joy for mourning ! They shall 

build again 
The old waste-places; and again 

raise up 
The former desolations, and re- 
pair 370 
The cities that are wasted ! As a 

bridegroom 
Decketh himself with ornaments ; 

as a bride 
Adorneth herself with jewels, so 

the Lord 
Hath clothed me with a robe of 

righteousness ! 

A PRIEST. 

He spake the Prophet's words; 
but with an air 

As if himself had been foreshad- 
owed in them ! 

CHRISTUS. 

For Zion's sake I will not hold my 

peace, 
And for Jerusalem's sake I will 

not rest 
Until its righteousness be as a 

brightness, 
And its salvation as a lamp that 

burnetii I \ 380 



Thou shalt be called no longer the 

Forsaken, 
Nor any more thy land the Deso- 
late. 
The Lord hath sworn, by his right 

hand hath sworn, 
And by his arm of strength : I will 

no more 
Give to thine enemies thy corn as 

meat; 
The sons of strangers shall not 

drink thy wine. 
Go through, go through the gates ! 

Prepare a way 
Unto the people ! Gather out the 

stones ! 
Lift up a standard for the people ! 



A PRIEST. 



These are seditious words ! 



Ah J 



CHRISTUS. 

And they shall call them 
The holy people ; the redeemed of 

God! 391 

And thou, Jerusalem, shalt be 

called Sought out, 
A city not forsaken ! 

A PHARISEE. 

Is not this 
The carpenter Joseph's son? Is 

not his mother 
Called Mary? and his brethren and 

his sisters, 
Are they not with us? Doth he 

make himself 
To be a Prophet? 

CHRISTUS. 

No man is a Prophet 
In his own country, and among his 

kin. 
In his own house no Prophet is 

accepted. 
I say to you, in the land of Israel 
Were many widows in Elijah's 

day, 401 

When for three years and more 

the heavens were shut, 



a8o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And a great famine was through- 


VI 


out the land ; 




But unto no one was Elijah sent 


THE SEA OF GALILEE 


Save to Sarepta, to a city of Sidon, 




And to a woman there that was a 


Peter and Andrew mending 


widow. 


their nets. 


And many lepers were there in the 
land 


PETER. 


Of Israel, in the time of Eliseus 


Never was such a marvellous 


The Prophet, and yet none of them 


draught of fishes 


was cleansed, 409 


Heard of in Galilee ! The market- 


Save Naaman the Syrian ! 


places 




Both of Bethsaida and Capernaum 


A PRIEST. 


Are full of them! Yet we had 


Say no more ! 


toiled all night 430 


Thou comest here into our Syna- 


And taken nothing, when the Mas- 


gogue 


ter said : 


And speakest to the Elders and 


Launch out into the deep, and cast 


the Priests, 


your nets ; 


As if the very mantle of Elijah 


And doing this, we caught such 


Had fallen upon thee ! Art thou 


multitudes, 


not ashamed ? 


Our nets like spiders' webs were 




snapped asunder, 


A PHARISEE. 


And with the draught we filled two 


We want no Prophets here ! Let 


ships so full 


him be driven 


That they began to sink. Then I 


From Synagogue and city! Let 


knelt down 


him go 


Amazed, and said : Lord, depart 


And prophesy to the Samaritans ! 


from me, 




I am a sinful man. And he made 


AN ELDER. 


answer : 


The world is changed. "We Elders 


Simon, fear not; henceforth thou 


are as nothing ! 


shalt catch men ! 


"We are but yesterdays, that have 


What was the meaning of those 


no part 


words ? 


Or portion in to-day ! Dry leaves 




that rustle, 420 


ANDREW. 


That make a little sound, and then 


I know not 


are dust ! 


But here is Philip, come from 




Nazareth, 441 


A PHARISEE. 


He hatb been with the Master. 


A carpenter's apprentice ! a me- 


Tell us, Philip, 


chanic, 


What tidings dost thou bring? 


"Whom we have seen at work here 




in the town 


PHILIP. 


Day after day ; a stripling without 


Most wonderful ! 


learning, 


As we drew near to Nain, out of 


Shall he pretend to unfold the 


the gate 


Word of God 


Upon a bier was carried the dead 


To men grown old in study of the 


body 


Law? 


Of a young man, his mother's only 


christus is thrust out. ' 


son, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



481 



And she a widow, who with lamen- 


But, passing through the midst of 


tation 


them, he vanished 


Bewailed her loss, and the much 


Out of their hands. 


people with her ; 




And when the Master saw her he 


PETER. 


was filled 


Wells are they without water, 


"With pity; and he said to her: 


Clouds carried with a tempest, 


Weep not ! 450 


unto whom 471 


And came and touched the hier, 


The mist of darkness is reserved 


and they that bare it 


forever I 


Stood still; and then he said: 




Young man, arise ! 


PHILIP. 


And he that had been dead sat up, 


Behold he cometh. There is one 


and soon 


man with him 


Began to speak ; and he delivered 


I am amazed to see r 


him 




Unto his mother. And there came 


ANDREW. 


a fear 


What man is that ? 


On all the people, and they glorified 




The Lord, and said, rejoicing: A 


PHILIP, 


great Prophet 


Judas Iscariot; he that cometh 


Is risen up among us! and the 


last, 


Lord 


Girt with a leathern apron. No 


Hath visited his people » 


one knoweth 




His history ; but the rumor of him is 


PETER. 


He had an unclean spirit in his 


A great Prophet ? 


youth. 


Ay, greater than a Prophet: 


It hath not left him yet. 


greater even 460 




Than John the Baptist ! 


christus, passing. 




Come unto me, 


PHILIP. 


All ye that labor and are heavy 


Yet the Nazarenes 


laden, 480 


Eejected him. 


And I will give you rest! Come 




unto me, 


PETER. 


And take my yoke upon you and 


The Nazarenes are dogs ! 


learn of me, 


As natural brute beasts, they 


For I am meek, and I am lowly in 


growl at things 


heart, 


They do not understand ; and they 


And ye shall all find rest unto your 


shall perish, 


souls ! 


Utterly perish in their own cor- 




ruption. 


PHILIP. 


The Nazarenes are dogs ! 


Oh, there is something in that 




voice that reaches 


PHILIP. 


The innermost recesses of my 


They drave him forth 


spirit ! 


Out of their Synagogue, out of 


I feel that it might say unto the 


their city, 


blfnd : 


And would have cast him down a 


Receive your sight! and straight. 


precipice, 


way they would see I 



482 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



I feel that it might say unto the 


In the kitchen of the King of 


dead, 


Maschkemen ! 


Arise ! and they would hear it and 


Why dost thou hurl me here 


obey ! 490 


among these rocks, 


Behold, he beckons to us ! 


And cut me with these stones ? 


CHRISTUS, to PETER and AN- 


A GADARENE. 


DREW. 


He raves and mutters 


Follow me ! 


He knows not what. 


PETER. 


the demoniac, appearing from 


Master, I will leave all and follow 


a tomb among the rocks. 


thee. 


The wild cock Tarnegal 




Singeth to me and bids me to the 




banquet, 


VII 


Where all the Jews shall come ; 




for they have slain 510 


THE DEMONIAC OF GADARA 


Behemoth the great ox, who daily 




cropped 


A GADARENE. 


A thousand hills for food, and at a 


He hath escaped, hath plucked his 


draught 


chains asunder, 


Drank up the river Jordan, and 


And broken his fetters; always 


have slain 


night and day 


The huge Leviathan, and stretched 


Is in the mountains here, and in 


his skin 


the tombs, 


Upon the high walls of Jerusalem, 


Crying aloud, and cutting himself 


And made them shine from one end 


with stones, 


of the world 


Exceeding fierce, so that no man 


Unto the other ; and the fowl 


can tame him ! 


Barjuchne, 




Whose outspread wings eclipse 


the demoniac from, above, un- 


the sun, and make 


seen. 


Midnight at noon o'er all the con- 


O Aschmedai! Aschmedai, 


tinents ! 


have pity ! 


And we shall drink the wine of 




Paradise 520 


A GADARENE. 


From Adam's cellars. 


Listen ! It is his voice ! Go warn 




the people 


A GADARENE. 


Just landing from the lake ! 


thou unclean spirit ! 


THE DEMONIAC. 


the demoniac, hurling down a 


Aschmedai ! 


stone. 


Thou angel of the bottomless pit, 


This is the wonderful Barjuchne's 


have pity ! 501 


egg, 


It was enough to hurl King Solo- 


That fell out of her nest, and broke 


mon, 


to pieces 


On whom be peace ! two hundred 


And swept away three hundred 


leagues away • 


cedar-trees, 


Into the country, and to make him 


And threescore villages ! — Rabbi 


scullion 


Eliezer, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



483 



How thou didst sin there in that 


There is a herd of swine here in 


seaport town 


the pastures, 


When thou hadst carried safe thy 


Let us go into them. 


chest of silver 




Over the seven rivers for her sake ! 


CHRISTUS. 


I too have sinned beyond the reach 


Come out of him, 


of pardon. 


Thou unclean spirit ! 


Ye hills and mountains, pray for 




mercy on me ! 530 


A GADARENE. 


Ye stars and planets, pray for 


See, how stupefied, 


mercy on me ! 


How motionless he stands ! He 


Ye sun and moon, oh pray for 


cries no more ; 551 


mercy on me ! 


He seems bewildered and in 


Christus and his disciples pass. 


silence stares 




As one who, walking in his sleep, 


A GADAEENE. 


awakes 


There is a man here of Decapolis, 


And knows not where he is, and 


Who hath an unclean spirit; so 


looks about him, 


that none 


And at his nakedness, and is 


Can pass this way. He lives 


ashamed. 


among the tombs 




Up there upon the cliffs, and hurls 


THE DEMONIAC. 


down stones 


Why am I here alone among the 


On those who pass beneath. 


tombs ? 




What have they done to me, that 


CHRISTUS. 


I am naked? 


Come out of him, 


Ah, woe is me ! 


Thou unclean spirit ! 






CHRISTUS. 


THE DEMONIAC. 


60 home unto thy friends 


What have I to do 


And tell them how great things 


With thee, thou Son of God? Do 


the Lord hath done 


not torment us. 


For thee, and how He had com- 




passion on thee ! 560 


CHRISTUS. 




What is thy name ? 


A swineherd, running. 




The herds! the herds! most 


THE DEMONIAC. 


unlucky day ! 


Legion ; for we are many. 


They were all feeding quiet in the 


Cain, the first murderer ; and the 


sun, 


King Belshazzar, 541 


When suddenly they started, and 


And Evil Merodach of Babylon, 


grew savage 


And Admatha, the death -cloud, 


As the wild boars of Tabor, and 


prince of Persia ; 


together 


And Aschmedai, the angel of the 


Rushed down a precipice into the 


pit, 


sea! 


And many other devils. We are 


They are all drowned ! 


Legion. 




Send us not forth beyond Decap- 


PETER. 


olis ; 


Thus righteously are punished 


Command us not to go into the 


The apostate Jews, that eat the 


deep! 


flesh of swine, 



4§4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And broth of such abominable 


CHRISTUS. 


things ! 


Some one hath touched my gar- 




ments ; I perceive 


GREEKS OF GADARA. 


That virtue is gone out of me. 


"We sacrifice a sow unto Demeter 




At the beginning of harvest, and 


A WOMAN. 


another 57° 


Master ! 


To Dionysus at the vintage-time. 


Forgive me! For I said within 


Therefore we prize our herds of 


myself, 


swine, and count them 


If I so much as touch his gar- 


Not as unclean, but as things con- 


ment's hem, 590 


secrate 


I shall be whole. 


To the immortal gods. great 




magician, 


CHRISTUS. 


Depart out of our coasts; let us 


Be of good comfort, daughter ! 


alone, 


Thy faith hath made thee whole. 


We are afraid of thee. 


Depart in peace. 


PETER. 


A messenger /rom the house. 


Let us depart ; 


Why troublest thou the Master? 


For they that sanctify and purify 


Hearest thou not 


Themselves in gardens, eating 


The flute-players, and the voices 


flesh of swine, 


of the women 


And the abomination, and the 


Singing their lamentation ? She is 


mouse, 


dead! 


Shall be consumed together, saith 




the Lord l 580 


THE MINSTRELS AND MOURN- 
ERS. 




We have girded ourselves with 


VIII 


sackcloth ! 




We have covered our heads with 


TALITHA CUMI 


ashes ! 




For our young men die, and our 


jairtjs at the feet of christus. 


maidens 


Master! I entreat thee! I im- 


Swoon in the streets of the city ; 


plore thee! 


And into their mother's bosom 600 


My daughter lieth at the point of 


They pour out their souls like 


death ; 


water ! 


I pray thee come and lay thy 




hands upon her, 


christus, going in* 


And she shall live ! 


Give place. Why make ye thi* 




ado, and weep ? 


CHRISTUS. 


She is not dead, but sleepeth. 


Who was it touched my garments ? 






the MOTHBE,/rom within. 


SIMON PETER. 


Cruel Death } 


Thou seest the multitude that 


To take away from me this tendei 


throng and press thee, 


blossom ! 


And sayest thou: Who touched 


To take away my dove, my lamb 


me ? 'T was not I. 


my darling ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



485 



THE MINSTRELS AND MOURN- 
ERS. 

He hath led me and brought into 

darkness, 
Like the dead of old in dark 

places ! 
He hath bent his how, and hath set 

me 
Apart as a mark for his arrow ! 
He hath covered himself with a 

cloud, 610 

That our prayer should not pass 

through and reach him ! 

THE CROWD. 

He stands beside her bed! He 

takes her hand ! 
Listen, he speaks to her ! 

CHRiSTUS, within. 

Maiden, arise » 

THE CROWD. 

See, she obeys his voice! She 

stirs ! She lives ! 
Her mother holds her folded in her 

arms ! 
O miracle of miracles ! O marvel ! 



IX 

THE TOWER OF MAGDALA 
MARY MAGDALENE. 

Companionless, unsatisfied, for- 
lorn, 

I sit here in this lonely tower, and 
look 

Upon the lake below me, and the 
hills 

That swoon with heat, and see as 
in a vision 620 

All my past life unroll itself be- 
fore me. 

The princes and the merchants 
come to me, 

Merchants of Tyre and Princes of 
Damascus, 

And pass, and disappear, and are 
no more * 



But leave behind their merchan- 
dise and jewels, 

Their perfumes, and their gold, and 
their disgust. 

I loathe them, and the very mem- 
ory of them 

Is unto me as thought of food to 
one 

Cloyed with the luscious figs of 
Dalmanutha ! 

What if hereafter, in the long here- 
after 630 

Of endless joy or pain, or joy in 
pain, 

It were my punishment to be with 
them 

Grown hideous and decrepit in 
their sins, 

And hear them say: Thou that 
hast brought us here, 

Be unto us as thou hast been of 
old! 

I look upon this raiment that I 



These silks, and these embroider- 
ies, and they seem 
Only as cerements wrapped about 

my limbs ! 
I look upon these rings thick set 

with pearls, 
And emerald and amethyst and 

jasper, 640 

And they are burning coals upon 

my flesh ! 
This serpent on my wrist becomes 

alive 1 
Away, thou viper! and away, ye 

garlands, 
Whose odors bring the swift re- 
membrance back 
Of the unhallowed revels in these 

chambers ! 
But yesterday, — and yet it seems 

to me 
Something remote, like a pathetic 

song 
Sung long ago by minstrels in the 

street, — 
But yesterday, as from this tower 

I gazed, 



486 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Over the olive and the walnut 
trees 650 

Upon the lake and the white ships, 
and wondered 

Whither and whence they steered, 
and who was in them, 

A fisher's boat drew near the land- 
ing-place 

Under the oleanders, and the peo- 
ple 

Came up from it, and passed be- 
neath the tower, 

Close under me. In front of them, 
as leader, 

Walked one of royal aspect, 
clothed in white, 

Who lifted up his eyes, and looked 
at me, 

And all at once the air seemed 
filled and living 

With a mysterious power, that 
streamed from him, 660 

And overflowed me with an at- 
mosphere 

Of light and love. As one en- 
tranced I stood, 

And when I woke again, lo! he 
was gone ; 

So that I said : Perhaps it is a 
dream. 

But from that very hour the seven 
demons 

That had; their habitation in this 
body 

Which men call beautiful, de- 
parted from me ! 

This morning, when the first gleam 
of the dawn 

Made Lebanon a glory in the air, 

And all below was darkness, I be- 
held 670 

An angel, or a spirit glorified, 

With wind-tossed garments walk- 
ing on the lake. 

The face I could not see, but I dis- 
tinguished 

The attitude and gesture, and I 
knew 

T was he that healed me. And 
the gusty wind 



Brought to mine ears a voice, 

which seemed to say : 
Be of good cheer ! 'T is I ! Be not 

afraid ! 
And from the darkness, scarcely 

heard, the answer : 
If it be thou, bid me come unto 

thee 
Upon the water! And the voice 

said: Come! 680 

And then I heard a cry of fear: 

Lord, save me ! 
As of a drowning man. And then 

the voice : 
Why didst thou doubt, O thou of 

little faith ! 
At this all vanished, and the wind 

was hushed, 
And the great sun came up above 

the hills, 
And the swift -flying vapors hid 

themselves 
In caverns among the rocks ! Oh, 

I must find him 
And follow him, and be with him 

forever ! 

Thou box of alabaster, in whose 
walls 

The souls of flowers lie pent, the 
precious balm 690 

And spikenard of Arabian farms, 
the spirits 

Of aromatic herbs, ethereal na- 
tures 

Nursed by the sun and dew, not 
all unworthy 

To bathe his consecrated feet, 
whose step 

Makes every threshold holy that 
he crosses ; 

Let us go forth upon our pilgrim- 
age, 

Thou and I only! Let us search 
for him 

Until we find him, and pour out 
our souls 

Before his feet, till all that 's left 
of us 

Shall be the broken caskets that 
once held us ! 70& 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



487 



THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE 
PHARISEE 

A guest at table. 
Are ye deceived? Have any of 

the Rulers 
Believed on him ? or do they know 

indeed 
This man to be the very Christ? 

Howbeit 
We know whence this man is, but 

when the Christ 
Shall come, none knoweth whence 

he is. 

CHRISTUS. 

Whereunto shall I liken, then, the 

men 
Of this generation ? and what are 

they like ? 
They are like children sitting in 

the markets, 
And calling unto one another, say- 
ing: 
We have piped unto you, and ye 

have not danced ; 710 

We have mourned unto you, and 

ye have not wept ! 
This say I unto you, for John the 

Baptist 
Came neither eating bread nor 

drinking wine ; 
Ye say he hath a devil. The Son 

of Man 
Eating and drinking cometh, and 

ye say : 
Behold a gluttonous man, and a 

wine-bibber ; 
Behold a friend of publicans and 

sinners ! 

A guest aside to simon. 
Who is that woman yonder, glid- 
ing in 
Bo silently behind him ? 

SIMON. 

It is Mary. 

Who dwelleth in the Tower of 

Magdala, 720 



THE GUEST. 

See, how she kneels there weep- 
ing, and her tears 

Fall on his feet; and her long, 
golden hair 

Waves to and fro and wipes them 
dry again. 

And now she kisses them, and 
from a box 

Of alabaster is anointing them 

With precious ointment, filling all 
the house 

With its sweet odor ! 

simon, aside. 
Oh, this man, forsooth, 
Were he indeed a Prophet, would 

have known 
Who and what manner of woman 

this may be 
That toucheth him ! would know 
she is a sinner! 730 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, somewhat have I to say to 
thee. 

SIMON. 

Master, say on. 

CHRISTUS. 

A certain creditor 
Had once two debtors; and the 

one of them 
Owed him five hundred pence ; the 

other, fifty. 
They having naught to pay withal, 

he frankly 
Forgave them both. Now tell me 

which of them 
Will love him most? 

SIMON. 

He, I suppose, to whom 
He most forgave. 

CHRISTUS. 

Yea, thou hast rightly judged. 
Seest thou this woman? When 

thine house I entered, 
Thou gavest me no water for my 

feet, 740 



488 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



But she hath washed them with 

her tears, and wiped them 
With her own hair. Thou gavest 

me no kiss ; 
This woman hath not ceased, since 

I came in, 
To kiss my feet. My head with 

oil didst thou 
Anoint not ; but this woman hath 

anointed 
My feet with ointment. Hence I 

say to thee, 
Her sins, which have been many, 

are forgiven, 
For she loved much. 

THE GUESTS. 

Oh, who, then, is this man 
That pardoneth also sins without 
atonement? 

CHBISTUS. 

Woman, thy faith hath saved thee ! 
Go in peace ! 750 



THE SECOND PASSOVER 

I 

BEFORE THE GATES OP 
MACH^RUS 

MANAHEM. 

Welcome, O wilderness, and wel- 
come, night 

And solitude, and ye swift-flying 
stars 

That drift with golden sands the 
barren heavens, 

Welcome once more ! The Angels 
of the Wind 

Hasten across the desert to re- 
ceive me ; 

And sweeter than men's voices are 
to me 

The voices of these solitudes ; the 
sound 

Of unseen rivulets, and the far-off 
cry 

Of bitterns in the reeds of water- 
pools. 



And lo! above me, like the Pro- 
phet's arrow 10 

Shot from the eastern window, 
high in air 

The clamorous cranes go singing 
through the night. 

O ye mysterious pilgrims of the 
air, 

Would I had wings that I might 
follow you ! 

T look forth from these mountains, 
and behold 

The omnipotent and omnipresent 
night, 

Mysterious as the future and the 
fate 

That hangs o'er all men's lives ! I 
see beneath me 

The desert stretching to the Dead 
Sea shore, 

And westward, faint and far away, 
the glimmer 20 

Of torches on Mount Olivet, an- 
nouncing 

The rising of the Moon of Pass- 
over. 

Like a great cross it seems, on 
which suspended, 

With head bowed down in agony, 
I see 

A human figure! Hide, O merci- 
ful heaven, 

The awful apparition from my 
sight ! 

And thou, Machaerus, lifting high 
and black 

Thy dreadful walls against the 
rising moon, 

Haunted by demons and by ap- 
paritions, 

Lilith, and Jezerhara, and Bedar- 
gon, 30 

How grim thou showest in the un- 
certain light, 

A palace and a prison, where King 
Herod 

Feasts with Herodias, while the 
Baptist John 

Fasts, and consumes his unavail- 
ing life ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



And in thy court-yard grows the 


These torn and faded garments? 


untithed rue, 


On tby road 


Huge as the olives of Gethsem- 


Have demons crowded thee, and 


ane, 


rubbed against thee, 


And ancient as the terebinth of 


And given thee weary knees ? A 


Hebron, 


cup of wine ! 


Coeval with the world. Would 




that its leaves 


MANAHEM. 


Medicinal could purge thee of the 


The Essenians drink no wine. 


demons 




That now possess thee, and the 


HEROD. 


cunning fox 40 


What wilt thou, then? 


That burrows in tby walls, con- 




triving mischief ! 


MANAHEM. 


Music is heard from within. 


Nothing. 


Angels of God ! Sandalphon, thou 


HEROD. 


that weavest 


Not even a cup of water ? • 


The prayers of men into immortal 




garlands, 


MANAHEM. 


And thou, Metatron, who dost 


Nothing. 


gather up 


Why hast thou sent for me? 


Their songs, and bear them to the 




gates of heaven, 


HEROD. 


Now gather up together in your 


Dost thou remember 


hands 


One day when I, a schoolboy in 


The prayers that fill this prison, 


the streets 


and the songs 


Of the great city, met thee on my 


That echo from the ceiling of this 


way 60 


palace, 


To school, and thou didst say to 


And lay them side by side before 


me: Hereafter 


God's feet ! 


Thou shalt be king? 


He enters the castle. 


MANAHEM. 


II 


Yea, I remember it. 


HEROD. 


HEROD'S BANQUET-HALL 


Thinking thou didst not know me, 




I replied : 


MANAHEM. 


I am of bumble birth; whereat 


Thou hast sent for me, King, 


thou, smiling, 


and I am here. 50 


Didst smite me with thy hand, and 




saidst again : 


HEROD. 


Thou shalt be King; and let the 


Who art thou ? 


friendly blows 




That Manahem hath given thee on 


MANAEEM, 


this- day 


Manahem, the Essenian. 


Remind thee of the fickleness of 




fortune. 


HEBOD. 




I recognize thy features, but what 


MANAHEM. 


mean 


What more ? 



490 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HEROD. 

No more. 

MANAHEM. 

Yea, for I said to thee : 
It shall be well with thee if thou 
love justice 70 

And clemency towards thy fellow- 
men. 
Hast thou done this, O King? 

HEROD. 

Go, ask my people. 

MANAHEM. 

And then, foreseeing all thy life, I 

added : 
But these thou wilt forget ; and at 

the end 
Of life the Lord will punish thee. 

HEROD. 

The end ! 
When will that come ? For this I 

sent to thee. 
How long shall I still reign? 

Thou dost not answer ! 
Speak ! shall I reign ten years ? 

MANAHEM. 

Thou shalt reign twenty, 
Nay, thirty years. I cannot name 
the end. 

HEROD. 

Thirty? I thank thee, good Es- 
senian ! 80 

This is my birthday, and a happier 
one 

"Was never mine. We hold a ban- 
quet here. 

See, yonder are Herodias and her 
daughter. 

manahem, aside. 
'Tis said that devils sometimes 

take the shape 
Of ministering angels, clothed with 

air, 



That they may be inhabitants of 

earth, 
And lead man to destruction. Such 

are these. 

HEROD. 

Knowest thou John the Baptist? 

MANAHEM. 

Yea, I know him; 
Who knows him not ? 

HEROD. 

Know, then, this John the Bap- 
tist 
Said that it was not lawful I should 

marry 90 

My brother Philip's wife, and John 

the Baptist 
Is here in prison. In my father's 

time 
Matthias Margaloth was put to 

death 
For tearing the golden eagle from 

• its station 
Above the Temple Gate, — a 

slighter crime 
Than John is guilty of. These 

things are warnings 
To intermecldlers not to play with 

eagles, 
Living or dead. I think the Es- 

senians 
Are wiser, or more wary, are they 

not? 

MANAHEM. 

The Essenians do not marry. 

HEROD. 

Thou hast given 

My words a meaning foreign to 

my thought. 101 

MANAHEM. 

Let me go hence, O King ! 

HEROD. 

Stay yet awhile, 
And see the daughter of Herodias 
dance. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



491 



Cleopatra of Jerusalem, my mo- 
ther, 

In her best days, was not more 
beautiful. 

Music. The Daughter of He- 
rodias dances. 

HEROD. 

Oh, what was Miriam dancing with 

her timbrel, 
Compared to this one ? 

manahem, aside. 

O thou Angel of Death, 
Dancing at funerals among the 

women, 
"When men bear out the dead! 

The air is hot 
And stifles me ! Oh for a breath 
of air! no 

Bid me depart, O King ! 

HEROD. 

Not yet. Come hither, 

Salome, thou enchantress! Ask 
of me 

Whate'er thou wilt ; and even un- 
to the half 

Of all my kingdom, I will give it 
thee, 

As the Lord liveth ! 

daughter of herodias, kneel- 
ing. 
Give me here the head 
Of John the Baptist on this silver 
charger ! 

HEROD. 

Not that, dear child ! I dare not ; 

for the people 
Begard John as a prophet. 

DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 

Thou hast sworn it. 

HEROD. 

For mine oath's sake, then. Send 

unto the prison ; 
Let him die quickly. Oh, accursed 

oath! 120 



MANAHEM. 

Bid me depart, O King ! 

HEROD. 

Good Manahem, 
Give me thy hand. I love the Es- 

senians. 
He 's gone and hears me not ! The 

guests are dumb, 
Awaiting the pale face, tbe silent 

witness. 
The lamps flare ; and the curtains 

of the doorways 
Wave to and fro as if a ghost were 

passing ! 
Strengthen my heart, red wine of 

Ascalon ! 



Ill 

UNDER THE WALLS OF 
MACH^ERUS 

manahem, rushing out. 
Away from this Palace of sin ! 
The demons, the terrible powers 
Of the air, that haunt its towers 
And hide in its water-spouts, 131 
Deafen me with the din 
Of their laughter and their shouts 
For the crimes that are done with- 



Sink back into the earth, 

Or vanish into the air, 

Thou castle of despair ! 

Let it all be but a dream 

Of the things of monstrous birth, 

Of the things that only seem ! 140 

White Angel of the Moon, 

Onafiel ! be my guide 

Out of this hateful place 

Of sin and death, nor hide 

In yon black cloud too soon 

Thy pale and tranquil face ! 

A trumpet is blown from the walls. 

Hark ! hark ! It is the breath 
Of the trump of doom and death. 
From the battlements overhead 



492 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Like a burden of sorrow cast 150 

On the midnight and the blast, 

A wailing for the dead, 

That the gusts drop and uplift ! 

O Herod, thy vengeance is swift ! 

O Herodias, thou hast been 

The demon, the evil thing, 

That in place of Esther the Queen, 

In place of the lawful bride, 

Hast lain at night by the side 

Of Ahasuerus the king ! 160 

The trumpet again. 
The Prophet of God is dead ! 
At a drunken monarch's call, 
At a dancing- woman's beck, 
They have severed that stubborn 

neck 
And into the banquet-hall 
Are bearing the ghastly head ! 
A body is thrown from the 
tower. 
A torch of lurid red 
Lights the window with its glow ; 
And a white mass as of snow 
Is hurled into the abyss 170 

Of the black precipice, 
That yawns for it below ! 
O hand of the Most High, 
O hand of Adonai ! 
Bury it, hide it away 
From the birds and beasts of prey, 
And the eyes of the homicide, 
More pitiless than they, 
As thou didst bury of yore 
The body of him that died 180 
On the mountain of Peor ! 
Even now I behold a sign, 
A threatening of wrath divine, 
A watery, wandering star, 
Through whose streaming hair, 

and the white 
Unfolding garments of light, 
That trail behind it afar, 
The constellations shine ! 
And the whiteness and brightness 

appear 
Like the Angel bearing the Seer 
By the hair of his head, in the 

might 191 

And rush of his vehement flight. 
And I listen until I hear 



From fathomless depths of the sky 
The voice of his prophecy 
Sounding louder and more near ! 

Malediction ! malediction ! 
May the lightnings of heaven fall 
On palace and prison wall, 
And their desolation be 200 

As the day of fear and affliction, 
As the day of anguish and ire, 
With the burning and fuel of fire, 
In the Valley of the Sea ! 



IV 
NICODEMUS AT NIGHT 

NICODEMUS. 

The streets are silent. The dark 

houses seem 
Like sepulchres, in which the 

sleepers lie 
Wrapped in their shrouds, and for 

the moment dead. 
The lamps are all extinguished; 

only one 
Burns steadily, and from the door 

its light 
Lies like a shining gate across the 

street. 210 

He waits for me. Ah, should this 

be at last 
The long-expected Christ! I see 

him there 
Sitting alone, deep-buried in his 

thought, 
As if the weight of all the world 

were resting 
Upon him, and thus bowed him 

down. O Rabbi, 
We know thou art a Teacher come 

from God, 
For no man can perform the mira- 
cles 
Thou dost perform, except the 

Lord be with him. 
Thou art a Prophet, sent here to 

proclaim 
The Kingdom of the Lord. Be- 

hold in me 220 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



493 



A Ruler of the Jews, who long 

have waited 
The coming of that kingdom. Tell 

me of it. 

CHRISTUS. 

Verily, verily I say unto thee, 
Except a man be born again, he 

cannot 
Behold the Kingdom of God ! 

NICODEMUS. 

Be born again ? 
How can a man be born when he 

is old ? 
Say, can he enter for a second 

time 
Into his mother's womb, and so 

be born ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Verily I say unto thee, except 
A man be born of water and the 

spirit, 230 

He cannot enter into the Kingdom 

of God. 
For that which of the flesh is born, 

is flesh ; 
And that which of the spirit is 
■ born, is spirit. 

NICODEMUS. 

We Israelites from tbe Primeval 
Man 

Adam Ahelion derive our bod- 
ies; 

Our souls are breathings of the 
Holy Ghost. 

No more than this we know, or 
need to know. 

CHRISTUS. 

Then marvel not, that I said unto 

thee 
Ye must be born again. 

NICODEMUS. 

The mystery 
Of birth and death we cannot com- 
prehend. 240 



CHRISTUS. 

The wind bloweth where it listeth, 

and we hear 
The sound thereof, but know not 

whence it cometh, 
Nor whither it goeth. So is every 

one 
Born of the spirit ! 

NICODEMUS, aside. 
How can these things be ? 
He seems to speak of some vague 

realm of shadows, 
Some unsubstantial kingdom of 

the air ! 
It is not this the Jews are waiting 

for, 
Nor can this be the Christ, the Son 

of David, 
Who shall deliver us ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Art thou a master 
Of Israel, and knowest not these 

things ? 250 

We speak that we do know, and 

testify 
That we have seen, and ye will 

not receive 
Our witness. If I tell you earthly 

things, 
And ye believe not, how shall ye 

believe, 
If I should tell you of things hea- 
venly ? 
And no man hath ascended up to 

heaven, 
But He alone that first came down 

from heaven, 
Even the Son of Man which is in 

heaven ! 

ntcodemus, aside. 
This is a dreamer of dreams; a 

visionary, 
Whose brain is overtasked, until 

he deems 260 

The unseen world to be a thing 

substantial, 
And this we live in, an unreal 

vision ! 



494 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And yet his presence fascinates 

and fills me 
With wonder, and I feel myself 

exalted 
Into a higher region, and become 
Myself in part a dreamer of his 

dreams, 
A seer of his visions ! 

CHRISTUS. 

And as Moses 

Uplifted the serpent in the wilder- 
ness, 

So must the Son of Man he lifted 
up; 

That whosoever shall believe in 
Him 270 

Shall perish not, but have eternal 
life. 

He that believes in Him is not 
condemned ; 

He that believes not, is condemned 
already. 

nicodemus, aside. 
He speaketh like a Prophet of the 
Lord! 

CHRISTUS. 

This is the condemnation; that 

the light 
Is come into the world, and men 

loved darkness 
Rather than light, because their 

deeds are evil ! 

NICODEMUS, aside. 

Of me he speaketh ! He reprov- 
eth me, 

Because I come by night to ques- 
tion him ! 

CHRISTUS. 

For every one that doeth evil 
deeds 280 

Hateth the light, nor cometh to 
the light, 

Lest he should be reproved. 

nicodemus, aside. 

Alas, how truly 



He readeth what is passing in mj 
heart ! 

CHRISTUS. 

But he that doeth truth comes t'» 

the light, 
So that his deeds may be made 

manifest, 
That they are wrought in God. 

NICODEMUS. 

Alas ! alas ! 



BLIND BARTIMEUS 
BARTIMEUS. 

Be not impatient, Chilion; it is 

pleasant 
To sit here in the shadow of the 

walls 
Under the palms, and hear the 

hum of bees, 
And rumor of voices passing to 

and fro, 290 

And drowsy bells of caravans on 

their way 
To Sidon or Damascus. This is 

still 
The City of Palms, and yet the 

walls thou seest 
Are not the old walls, not the 

walls where Bahab 
Hid the two spies, and let them 

down by cords 
Out of the window, when the gates 

were shut, 
And it was dark. Those walls 

were overthrown 
When Joshua's army shouted, and 

the priests 
Blew with their seven trumpets. 

CHILION. 

When was that? 

BARTIMEUS. 

O my sweet rose of Jericho, I 
know not. 300 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



495 



Hundreds of years ago. And over 


ONE OF THE CROWD. 


there 


Jesus of Nazareth. 


Beyond the river, the great pro- 




phet Elijah 


bartimeus, crying. 


Was taken by a whirlwind up to 

heaven 
In chariot of fire, with fiery horses. 


Son of David ! 


Have mercy on me ! 


That is the plain of Moab ; and 


MANY OF THE CROWD. 


beyond it 


Peace, Blind Bartimeus ! 


Rise the blue summits of Mount 
Abarim, 


Do not disturb the Master. 


Nebo and Pisgah and Peor, where 


bartimeus, crying more vehe- 


Moses 


mently. 


Died, whom the Lord knew face 


Son of David, 


to face, and whom 
He buried in a valley, and no man 


Have mercy on me ! 


Knows of his sepulchre unto this 


ONE OF THE CROWD. 


day. 310 

CHILION. 


See, the Master stops. 


Be of good comfort ; rise, He call- 


Would thou couldst see these 


eth thee ! 328 


places, as I see them. 




bartimeus, casting away his 


BARTIMEUS. 


cloak. 


I have not seen a glimmer of the 


Chilion ! good neighbors ! lead me 


light 


on. 


Since thou wast born. I never 




saw thy face, 


CHRISTUS. 


And yet I seem to see it ; and one 


What wilt thou 


day 


That I should do to thee ? 


Perhaps shall see it ; for there is 




a Prophet 


BARTIMEUS. 


In Galilee, the Messiah, the Son 


Good Lord ! my sight — 


of David, 


That I receive my sight ! 


Who heals the blind, if I could 




only find him. 


CHRISTUS. 


I hear the sound of many feet ap- 


Receive thy sight ! 


proaching, 


Thy faith hath made thee whole ! 


And voices, like the murmur of a 




crowd ! 


THE CROWD. 


What seestthou? 


He sees again ! 


CHILION. 


Christus passes on. The crowd 


A young man clad in white 


gathers round Bartimeus. 


Is coming through the gateway, 




and a crowd 321 


bartimeus. 


Of people follow. 


I see again ; but sight bewilders 


BARTIMEUS. 


me ! 
Like a remembered dream, fa- 


Can it be the Prophet ! 


miliar things 


D neighbors, tell me who it is that 


Come back to me. I see the ten 


passes ? 


der sky 



496 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Above me, see the trees, the city 

walls, 
And the old gateway, through 

whose echoing arch 
I groped so many years ; and you, 

my neighbors ; 
But know you by your friendly 

voices only. 
How beautiful the world is ! and 

how wide ! 340 

Oh, I am miles away, if I but look ! 
Where art thou, Chilion ? 

CHILION. 

Father, I am here. 

BARTIMETTS. 

Oh let me gaze upon thy face, dear 

child ! 
For I have only seen thee with my 

hands ! 
How beautiful thou art ! I should 

have known thee ; 
Thou hast her eyes whom we shall 

see hereafter 1 
O God of Abraham ! Elion ! Ado- 

nai! 
"Who art thyself a Father, pardon 

me 
If for a moment I have thee post- 
poned 
To the affections and the thoughts 

of earth, 350 

Thee, and the adoration that I 

owe thee, 
When by thy power alone these 

darkened eyes 
Have been unsealed again to see 

thy light ! 

VI 

JACOB'S WELL 

A SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

The sun is hot ; and the dry east- 
wind blowing 

Fills all the air with dust. The 
birds are silent ; 

Even the little fieldfares in the 
corn 



No longer twitter ; only the grass- 
hoppers 
Sing their incessant song of sun 

and summer. 
I wonder who those strangers 

were I met 
Going into the city ? Galileans 
They seemed to me in speaking, 

when they asked 361 

The short way to the market- 
place. Perhaps 
They are fishermen from the lake ; 

or travellers, 
Looking to find the inn. And here 

is some one 
Sitting beside the well; another 

stranger ; 
A Galilean also by his looks. 
What can so many Jews be doing 

here 
Together in Samaria? Are they 

going 
Up to Jerusalem to the Passover ? 
Our Passover is better here at 

Sychem, 370 

For here is Ebal; here is Geri- 

zim, 
The mountain where our father 

Abraham 
Went up to offer Isaac ; here the 

tomb 
Of Joseph, — for they brought his 

bones from Egypt 
And buried them in this land, and 

it is holy. 

CHRISTUS. 

Give me to drink. 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

How can it be that thou, 

Being a Jew, askest to drink of 
me 

Which am a woman of Samaria ? 

You Jews despise us ; have no 
dealings with us ; 

Make us a byword ; call us in de- 
rision 380 

The silly folk of Sychar. Sir, how 
is it 

Thou askest drink of me ? 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



497 



CHRISTUS. 


I have no husband. Thou hast 


If thou hadst known 


had five husbands ; 


The gift of God, and who it is that 


And he whom now thou hast is not 


sayeth 


thy husband. 


Give me to drink, thou wouldst 




have asked of Him ; 


SAMARITAN WOMAN. 


He would have given thee the liv- 


Surely thou art a Prophet, for thou 


ing water. 


readest 




The hidden things of life! Our 


SAMARITAN WOMAN. 


fathers worshipped 


Sir, thou hast naught to draw with, 


Upon this mountain Gerizim ; and 


and the well 


ye say 


Is deep ! "Whence hast thou liv- 


The only place in which men 


ing water? 


ought to worship 


Say, art thou greater than our fa- 


Is at Jerusalem. 


ther Jacob, 




Which gave this well to us, and 


CHRISTUS. 


drank thereof 


Believe me, woman, 


Himself, and all his children and 


The hour is coming, when ye 


his cattle ? 390 


neither shall 409 




Upon this mount, nor at Jerusalem, 


CHRISTUS. 


Worship the Father ; for the hour 


Ah, whosoever drinketh of this 


is coming, 


water 


And is now come, when the true 


Shall thirst again ; but whosoever 


worshippers 


drinketh 


Shall worship the Father in spirit 


The water I shall give him shall 


and in truth ! 


not thirst 


The Father seeketh such to wor- 


Forevermore, for it shall be within 


ship Him. 


him 


God is a spirit : and they that wor- 


A well of living water, springing up 


ship Him 


Into life everlasting. 


Must worship Him in spirit and in 




truth. 


SAMARITAN WOMAN. 




Every day 


SAMARITAN WOMAN. 


I must go to and fro, in heat and 


Master, I know that the Messiah 


cold, 


cometh, 


And I am weary. Give me of this 


Which is called Christ; and He 


water, 


will tell us all things. 


That I may thirst not, nor come 




here to draw. 


CHRISTUS. 




I that speak unto thee am He ! 


CHRISTUS. 




Go call thy husband, woman, and 


the disciples, returning. 


come hither. 4co 


Behold, 




The Master sitting by the well, 


SAMARITAN WOMAN. 


and talking 420 


7 have no husband, Sir. 


With a Samaritan woman ! With 




a woman 


CHRISTUS. 


Of Sychar, the silly people, always 


Thou hast well said 


boasting 



498 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Of their Mount Ebal, and Mount 

Gerizim, 
Their Everlasting Mountain, which 

they think 
Higher and holier than our Mount 

Moriah ! 
Why, once upon the Feast of the 

New Moon, 
When our great Sanhedrim of 

Jerusalem 
Had all its watch-fires kindled on 

the hills 
To warn the distant villages, these 

people 
Lighted up others to mislead the 

Jews, 430 

And make a mockery of their 

festival ! 
See, she has left the Master ; and 

is running 
Back to the city ! 

SAMARITAN WOMAN. 

Oh, come see a man 
Who hath told me all things that 

I ever did ! 
Say, is not this the Christ? 

THE DISCIPLES. 

Lo, Master, here 
Is food, that we have brought thee 

from the city. 
We pray thee eat it. 

CHRISTUS. 

I have food to eat 
Ye know not of. 

the DisciPiiES, to each other. 
Hath any man been here, 
And brought Him aught to eat. 
while we were gone ? 

CHRISTUS. 

The food I speak of is to do the 

will 440 

Of Him that sent me, and to finish 

his work. 
Do ye not say, Lo ! there are yet 

four months 
And cometh harvest? I say unto 

you. 



Lift up your eyes, and look upon 

the fields, 
For they are white already unto 

harvest ! 



VII 

THE COASTS OF CiESAREA 
PHILIPPI 

CHRISTUS, going up the mountain. 
Who do the people say I am ? 

JOHN. 

Some say 
That thou art John the Baptist; 

some, Elias ; 
And others Jeremiah. 

JAMES. 

Or that one 
Of the old Prophets is arisen again. 

CHRISTUS. 

But who say ye I am ? 

PETER. 

Thou art the Christ J 
Thou art the Son of God ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Blessed art thou» 
Simon Barjona ! Flesh and blood 

hath not 452 

Kevealed it unto thee, but even 

my Father, 
Which is in Heaven. And I say 

unto thee 
That thou art Peter; and upon 

this rock 
I build my Church, and all the 

gates of Hell 
Shall not prevail against it. But 

take heed 
Ye tell to no man that I am the 

Christ. 
For I must go up to Jerusalem, 
And suffer many things, and be 

rejected 460 

Of the Chief Priests, and of the 

Scribes and Elders, 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



499 



And must be crucified, and the 

third day 
Shall rise again ! 

PETER. 

Be it far from thee, Lord ! 
This shall not be ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Get thee behind me, Satan! 

Thou savorest not the tbings tbat 
be of God, 

But those that be of men ! If any 
will 

Come after me, let him deny him- 
self, 

And daily take his cross, and 
follow me. 

For whosoever will save his life 
shall lose it, 

And whosoever will lose his life 
' shall find it. 470 

For wherein shall a man be profit- 
ed 

If he shall gain the whole world, 
and shall lose 

Himself or be a castaway ? 

james, after a long pause. 

Why doth 
The Master lead us up into this 
mountain? 

peter. 
He goeth up to pray. 

JOHN. 

See, where He standeth 
Above us on the summit of the 

hill! 
His face shines as the sun! and 

all his raiment 
Exceeding white as snow, so as no 

fuller 
On earth can white them ! He is 

not alone ; 
There are two with Him there; 

two men of eld, 480 

Their white beards blowing on the 

mountain air, 
kie talking with him. 



JAMES. 

I am sore afraid 1 

PETER. 

"Who and whence are they ? 

JOHN. 

Moses and Elias ! 

PETER. 

Master ! it is good for us to be 

here! 
If thou wilt, let us make three 

tabernacles ; 
For thee one, and for Moses and 

Elias ! 

JOHN. 

Behold a bright cloud sailing in 
the sun ! 

It overshadows us. A golden mist 

Now hides them from us, and en- 
velops us 

And all the mountain in a luminous 
shadow ! 490 

1 see no more. The nearest rocks 

are hidden. 

voice from the cloud. 
Lo ! this is my beloved Son ! Hear 
Him! 

PETER. 

It is the voice of God. He speak- 

eth to us, 
As from the burning bush He 

spake to Moses ! 

JOHN. 

The cloud-wreaths roll away. The 
veil is lifted ; 

We see again. Behold! He is 
alone. 

It was a vision that our eyes be- 
held, 

And it hath vanished into the un- 
seen. 

CHRISTUS, coming doxvn from the 

mountain. 
I charge ye, tell the vision unto no 
one, 



5°° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Till the Son of Man be risen from 


He is mine only child ; a lunatic, 


the dead ! 500 


And sorely vexed; for oftentimes 




he falleth 


peter, aside. 


Into the fire and oft into the water. 


Again He speaks of it ! What can 


Wherever the dumb spirit taketh 


it mean, 


him 521 


This rising from the dead ? 


He teareth him. He gnasheth 




with his teeth, 


JAMES. 


And pines away. I spake to thy 


Why say the Scribes 


disciples 


Elias must first come ? 


That they should cast him out, and 




they could not. 


CHRISTUS. 




He cometh first, 


CHRISTUS. 


Bestoring all things. But I say to 


faithless generation and per- 


you, 


verse ! 


That this Elias is already come. 


How long shall I be with you, and 


They knew him not, but have done 


suffer you ? 


unto him 


Bring thy son hither. 


Whate'er they listed, as is written 




of him. 


BYSTANDERS. 




How the unclean spirit 


peter, aside. 


Seizes the boy, and tortures him 


It is of John the Baptist He is 


with pain ! 


speaking. 


He falleth to the ground and wal- 




lows, foaming ! 529 


JAMES. 


He cannot live. 


As we descend, see, at the moun- 




tain's foot, 


CHRISTUS. 


A crowd of people ; coming, going, 


How long is it ago 


thronging 510 


Since this came unto him ? 


Bound the disciples, that we left 
behind us, 


THE FATHER. 


Seeming impatient, that we stay so 


Even of a child. 


long. 


Oh, have compassion on us, Lord, 




and help us, 


PETER. 


If thou canst help us. 


It is some blind man, or some par- 
alytic 


CHRISTUS. 


That waits the Master's coming 


If thou canst believe. 


to be healed. 


For unto him that verily believeth, 




All things are possible. 


JAMES. 




I see a boy, who struggles and de- 


THE FATHER. 


means him 


Lord, I believe! 


As if an unclean spirit tormented 


Help thou mine unbelief ! 


him! 






CHRISTUS. 


A certain MAN, running for- 


Dumb and deaf spirit, 


ward. 


Come out of him, I charge thee, 


Lord ! I beseech thee, look upon 


and no more 


my son. 


Enter thou into him ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5oi 



The boy utters a loud cry of pain, 
and then lies still. 

BYSTANDERS. 

How motionless 
He lieth there. No life is left in 

him. 
His eyes are like a blind man's, 

that see not. 540 

The boy is dead ! 

OTHERS. 

Behold ! the Master stoops, 
And takes him by the hand, and 

lifts him up. 
He is not dead. 

disciples. 
But one word from those lips, 
But one touch of that hand, and 

he is healed ! / 

Ah, why could we not do it? 

the father. 

My poor child ! 
Now thou art mine again. The 

unclean spirit 
Shall never more torment thee! 

Look at me ! 
Speak unto me ! Say that thou 
knowest me ! 

discipi.es to christus, depart- 
ing. 
Good Master, tell us, for what rea- 
son was it 549 
We could not cast him out? 

christus. 
Because of your unbelief ! 



VIII 

THE YOUNG RULER 
CHRISTUS. 

Two men went up into the temple 

to pray. 
The one was a self-righteous Phar- 

isee, 



The other a Publican. And the 
Pharisee 

Stood and prayed thus within him- 
self! OGod, 

I thank thee I am not as other 
men, 

Extortioners, unjust, adulterers, 

Or even as this Publican. I fast 

Twice in the week, and also I give 
tithes 

Of all that I possess ! The Publi- 
can, 

Standing afar off, would not lift so 
much 560 

Even as his eyes to heaven, but 
smote his breast, 

Saying : God be merciful to me a 
sinner ! 

I tell you that this man went to 
his house 

More justified than the other. 
Every one 

That doth exalt himself shall be 
abased, 

And he that humbleth himself 
shall be exalted ! 

children, among themselves. 
Let us go nearer! He is telling 

stories ! 
Let us go listen to them. 

AN OLD JEW. 

Children, children ! 
What are ye doing here ? Why do 

ye crowd us ? 
It was such little vagabonds as 

you, S7 o 

That followed Elisha, mocking 

him and crying : 
Go up, thou bald-bead ! But the 

bears — the bears 
Came out of the wood, and tare 

them! 

A MOTHER. 

Speak not thus ! 
We brought them here, that He 

might lay his hands 
On them, and bless them. 



502 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTUS. 

Suffer little children 
To come unto me, and forbid them 

not; 
Of such is the kingdom of heaven ; 

and their angels 
Look always on my Father's face. 
Takes them in his arms and 



A young ruler, running. 

Good Master ! 
What good thing shall I do, that I 
may have 579 

Eternal life ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Why callest thou me good ? 
There is none good but one, and 

that is God. 
If thou wilt enter into life eternal, 
Keep the commandments. 

YOUNG RULER. 

Which of them? 

CHRISTUS. 

Thou shalt not 
Commit adultery; thou shalt not 

kill; 
Thou shalt not steal; thou shalt 

not bear false witness ; 
Honor thy father and thy mother ; 

and love 
Thy neighbor as thyself. 

YOUNG RULER. 

From my youth up 
All these things have I kept. 
What lack I yet? 

JOHN. 

With what divine compassion in 

his eyes 
The Master looks upon this eager 

youth, 590 

As if He loved him ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Wouldst thou perfect be, 



Sell all thou hast, and give it to 

the poor, 
And come, take up thy cross, and 

follow me, 
And thou shalt have thy treasure 

in the heavens. 

JOHN. 

Behold, how sorrowful he turns 
away! 

CHRISTUS. 

Children ! how hard it is for them 

that trust 
In riches to enter into the kingdom 

of God ! 
'T is easier for a camel to go 

through 
A needle's eye, than for the rich to 

enter 599 

The kingdom of God ! 

JOHN. 

Ah, who then can be saved ? 

CHRISTUS. 

With men this is indeed impossi- 
ble, 

But unto God all things are possi- 
ble! 

PETER. 

Behold, we have left all, and fol- 
lowed thee. 
What shall we have therefor ? 



CHRISTUS. 



Eternal life. 



IX 

AT BETHANY 



Martha busy about household 
affairs. Mary sitting at the feet 

Of CHRISTUS. 

MARTHA. 

She sitteth idly at the Master's feet, 
And troubles not herself with 
household cares. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



503 



Tis the old story. When a guest 


Only to be with thee, only to see 


arrives 


thee, 


She gives up all to be with him ; 


Sufflceth me. My heart is then at 


while I 


rest. 


Must be the drudge, make ready 


I wonder I am worthy of so 


the guest-chamber, 


much. 


Prepare the food, set everything in 




order, 610 


MARTHA. 


And see that naught is wanting in 


Lord, dost thou care not that my 


the house. 


sister Mary 


She shows her love by words, and 


Hath left me thus to wait on thee 


I by works. 


alone ? 




I pray thee, bid her help me. 


MARY. 


CHRISTUS. 


Master ! when thou comest, it is 


Martha, Martha, 


always 


Careful and troubled about many 


A Sabbath in the house. I cannot 


things 


work; 


Art thou, and yet one thing alone 


I must sit at thy feet; must see 


is needful ! 


thee, hear thee ! 


Thy sister Mary hath chosen that 


I have a feeble, wayward, doubt- 


good part, 


ing heart, 


Which never shall be taken away 


Incapable of endurance or great 


from her ! 640 


thoughts, 




Striving for something that it can- 




not reach, 


X 


Baffled and disappointed, wound- 




ed, hungry ; 


BORN BLIND 


And only when I hear thee am I 




happy, 620 


A JEW. 


And only when I see thee am at 


Who is this beggar blinking in the 


peace ! 


sun? 


Stronger than I, and wiser, and far 


Is it not he who used to sit and 


better 


beg 


In every manner, is my sister 


By the Gate Beautiful ? 


Martha. 




Thou seest how well she orders 


ANOTHER. 


everything 


It is the same. 


To make thee welcome; how she 




comes and goes, 


A THIRD. 


Careful and cumbered ever with 


It is not he, but like him, for that 


much serving, 


beggar 


While I but welcome thee with 


Was blind from birth. It cannot 


foolish words ! 


be the same. 


Whene'er thou speakest to me, I 




am happy ; 


THE BEGGAR. 


When thou art silent, I am satis- 
fied. 
Thy presence is enough. I ask 


Yea, I am he. 


A JEW. 


no more. 630 


How have thine eyes been opened ? 



504 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



THE BEGGAR. 


PHARISEES. 


A man that is called Jesus made 


What dost thou say of him 


a clay 


That hath restored thy sight ? 


And put it on mine eyes, and said 




to me : 


THE BEGGAR. 


Go to Siloam's Pool and wash thy- 


He is a Prophet. 


self. 




I went and washed, and I received 


A JEW. 


my sight. 650 


This is a wonderful story, but not 




true. 


A JEW. 


A beggar's fiction. He was not 


Where is He ? 


born blind, 




And never has been blind ! 


THE BEGGAR. 




I know not. 


OTHERS. 


PHARISEES. 


Here are his parents. 




Ask them. 


What is this crowd 




Gathered about a beggar ? What 


PHARISEES. 


has happened ? 


Is this your son? 


A JEW. 


THE PARENTS. 


Here is a man who hath been 




blind from birth, 


Eabboni, yea ; 


And now he sees. He says a man 


We know this is our son. 


called Jesus 
Hath healed him. 


PHARISEES. 




Was he born blind ? 


PHARISEES. 




As God liveth, the Nazarene ! 


THE PARENTS. 


How was this done ? 


He was born blind. 


THE BEGGAR. 


PHARISEES. 


Eabboni, he put clay 


Then how doth he now see ? 


Upon mine eyes; I washed, and 




now I see. 


the parents, aside. 


PHARISEES. 


What answer shall we make ? If 


When did he this ? 


we confess 670 




It was the Christ, we shall be 


THE BEGGAR. 


driven forth 


Eabboni, yesterday. 


Out of the Synagogue ! We know, 
Eabboni, 


PHARISEES. 


This is our son, and that he was 


The Sabbath day. This man is 


born blind ; 


not of God 


But by what means he seeth, we 


Because he keepeth not the Sab- 


know not, 


bath day ! 660 


Or who his eyes hath opened, we 




know not. 


A JEW. 


He is of age ; ask him ; we cannot 


How can a man that is a sinner do 


say ; 


Such miracles ? 


He shall speak for himself. 






THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



SOS 



PHARISEES. 

Give God the praise ! 
We know the man that healed 
thee is a sinner ! 

THE BEGGAR. 

Whether He be a sinner, I know 

not; 
One thing I know ; that whereas I 

was blind, 680 

I now do see. 

PHARISEES. 

How opened he thine eyes ? 
What did he do ? 

THE BEGGAR. 

I have already told you. 
Ye did not hear : why would ye 

hear again ? 
Will ye be his disciples ? 

PHARISEES. 

God of Moses ! 

Are we demoniacs, are we halt or 
blind, 

Or palsy-stricken, or lepers, or the 
like, 

That we should join the Syna- 
gogue of Satan, 

And follow jugglers? Thou art 
his disciple, 

But we are disciples of Moses; 
and we know 

That God spake unto Moses ; but 
this fellow, 690 

We know not whence he is ! 

THE BEGGAR. 

Why, herein is 

A marvellous thing ! Ye know not 
whence He is, 

Yet He hath opened mine eyes ! 
We know that God 

Heareth not sinners ; but if any 
man 

Doeth God's will, and is his wor- 
shipper, 

Him doth He hear. Oh, since the 
world began 



It was not heard that any man 

hath opened 
The eyes of one that was born 

blind. If He 
Were not of God, surely He could 

do nothing ! 

PHARISEES. 

Thou, who wast altogether born in 

sins 700 

And in iniquities, dost thou teach 

us? 
Away with thee out of the holy 

places, 
Thou reprobate, thou beggar, thou 

blasphemer ! 

The Beggar is cast out. 



XI 

SIMON MAGUS AND HELEN OP 
TYRE 

On the house-top at Endor. Night. 
A lighted lantern on a table. 

SIMON. 

Swift are the blessed Immortals to 

the mortal 
That perseveres ! So doth it stand 

recorded • 
In the divine Chaldaean Oracles 
Of Zoroaster, once Ezekiel's slave, 
Who in his native East betook 

himself 
To lonely meditation, and the 

writing 710 

On the dried skins of oxen the 

Twelve Books 
Of the Avesta and the Oracles ! 
Therefore I persevere ; and I have 

brought thee 
From the great city of Tyre, where 

men deride 
The things they comprehend not, 

to this plain 
Of Esdraelon, in the Hebrew 

tongue 
Called Armageddon, and this town 

of Endor, 



506., CHRISTUS : 


A MYSTERY 


Where men believe ; where all the 


SIMON. 


air is full 


Thou canst not raise thyself 


Of marvellous traditions, and the 


Up to the level of my higher 


Enchantress 


thought, 


That summoned up the ghost of 


And though possessing thee, I still 


Samuel 720 


remain 


Is still remembered. Thou hast 


Apart from thee, and with thee, 


seen the land ; 


am alone 740 


Is it not fair to look on ? 


In my high dreams. 


HELEN. 


HELEN. 


It is fair, 


Happier was I in Tyre. 


Yet not so fair as Tyre. 


Oh, I remember how the gallant 




ships 


SIMON. 


Came sailing in, with ivory, gold, 


Is not Mount Tabor 


and silver, 


As beautiful as Carmel by the 


And apes and peacocks; and the 


Sea? 


singing sailors, 




And the gay captains with their 


HELEN. 


silken dresses, 


It is too silent and too solitary ; 


Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cin- 


I miss the tumult of the streets ; 


namon ! 


the sounds 




Of traffic, and the going to and fro 


SIMON. 


Of people in gay attire, with cloaks 


But the dishonor, Helen ! Let the 


of purple, 


ships 


And gold and silver jewelry ! 


Of Tarshish howl for that ! 


SIMON. 


HELEN. 


Inventions 


And what dishonor ? 


Of Ahriman, the spirit of the 


Kemember Rahab, and how she 


dark, 730 


became 


The Evil Spirit ! " 


The ancestress of the great Psalm- 




ist David ; 750 


HELEN. 


And wherefore should not I, Helen 


I regret the gossip 


of Tyre, 


Of friends and neighbors at the 


Attain like honor ? 


open door 




On summer nights. 


SIMON. 




Thou art Helen of Tyre, 


SIMON. 


And hast been Helen of Troy, and 


An idle waste of time. 


hast been Rahab, 




The Queen of Sheba, and Semira- 


HELEN. 


mis, 


The singing and the dancing, the 


And Sara of seven husbands, and 


delight 


Jezebel, 


Of music and of motion. Woe is 


And other women of the like al- 


me, 


lurements ; 


To give up all these pleasures, and 


And now thou art Minerva, the 


to lead* 


first Mori, 


The life we lead ! 


The Mother of Angels ! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



507 



HELEN. 

And the concubine 

Of Simon the Magician ! Is it 
honor 

For one who has been all these 
noble dames, 760 

To tramp about the dirty vil- 
lages 

And cities of Samaria with a jug- 
gler? 

A charmer of serpents ? 

SIMON. 

He who knows himself 

Knows all things in himself. I 
have charmed thee, 

Thou beautiful asp: yet am I no 
magician. 

I am the Power of God, and the 
Beauty of God ! 

I am the Paraclete, the Comfort- 
er! 

HELEN. 

Illusions ! Thou deceiver, self-de- 
ceived ! 

Thou dost usurp the titles of 
another ; 

Thou art not what thou sayest. . 



SIMON. 



Then feel my power. 



Am I not? 



HELEN. 

Would I had ne'er left Tyre ! 
He looks at her, and she sinks in- 
to a deep sleep. 

SIMON. 

Go, see it in thy dreams, fair un- 
believer ! 772 

And leave me unto mine, if they 
be dreams, 

That take such shapes before me, 
that I see them ; 

These effable and ineffable im- 
pressions 

Df the mysterious world, that come 
to me 



From the elements of Fire and 

Earth and Water, 
And the all-nourishing Ether ! It 

is written, 
Look not on Nature, for her name 

is fatal ! 
Yet there are Principles, that make 

apparent 78c 

The images of unapparent things, 
And the impression of vague char- 
acters 
And visions most divine appear in 

ether. 
So speak the Oracles ; then where- 
fore fatal ? 
I take this orange-bough, with its 

five leaves, 
Each equidistant on the upright 

stem; 
And I project them on a plane be- 
low, 
In the circumference of a circle 

drawn 
About a centre where the stem is 

planted, 
And each still equidistant from 

the other ; 790 

As if a thread of gossamer were 

drawn 
Down from each leaf, and fastened 

with a pin. 
Now if from these five points a 

line be traced 
To each alternate point, we shall 

obtain 
The Pentagram, or Solomon's Pen- 
tangle, 
A charm against all witchcraft, 

and a sign, 
Which on the banner of Anti- 

ochus 
Drove back the fierce barbarians 

of the North, 
Demons esteemed, and gave the 

Syrian King 
The sacred name of Soter, or of 

Savior. 800 

Thus Nature works mysteriously 

with man ; 
And from the Eternal One, as from 

a centre, 



508 CHRISTUS: 


A MYSTERY 


All things proceed, in fire, air, 


In youth I saw the Wise Men of 


earth, and water, 


the East, 


And all are subject to one law, 


Magalath and Pangalath and Sar- 


which broken 


acen, 


Even in a single point, is broken 


Who followed the bright star, but 


in all ; 


home returned 


Demons rush in, and chaos comes 


For fear of Herod by another 


again. 


way. 




Oh shining worlds above me ! in 


By this will I compel the stubborn 


what deep 


spirits, 


Eecesses of your realms of mys- 


That guard the treasures, hid in 


tery 830 


caverns deep 


Lies hidden now that star? and 


On Gerizim, by Uzzi the High- 


where are they 


Priest, 


That brought the gifts of frankin- 


The ark and holy vessels, to re- 


cense and myrrh ? 


veal 810 




Their secret unto me, and to re- 


HELEN. 


store 


The Nazarene still liveth. 


These precious things to the Sa- 




maritans. 


SIMON. 


A mist is rising from the plain be- 


We have heard 


low me, 


His name in many towns, but have 


And as I look, the vapors shape 


not seen Him. 


themselves 


He flits before us; tarries not; is 


Into strange figures, as if una- 


gone 


wares 


When we approach, like something 


My lips had breathed the Tetra- 


unsubstantial, 


grammaton, 


Made of the air, and fading into 


And from their graves, o'er all the 


air. 


battle-fields 


He is at Nazareth, He is at Nain, 


Of Armageddon, the long-buried 


Or at the Lovely Village on the 


captains 


Lake, 


Had started, with their thousands, 


Or sailing on its waters. 


and ten thousands, 




And rushed together to renew 


HELEN. 


their wars, 820 


So say those 


Powerless, and weaponless, and 


Who do not wish to find Him. 


without a sound ! 




Wake, Helen, from thy sleep ! The 


SIMON. 


air grows cold ; 


Can this be 


Let us go down. 


The King of Israel, whom the Wise 




Men worshipped ? 842 




Or does He fear to meet me ? It 


Helen, awaking. 


would seem so. 


Oh, would I were at home ! 


We should soon learn which of us 




twain usurps 


SIMON. 


The titles of the other, as thou 


Thou sayest that I usurp another's 


sayest. 


titles. 


They go down. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



509 



THE THIED PASSOVEE 



THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM 

The Syro-Phcenician Woman 
and her Daughter on the 
house-top at Jerusalem. 

the daughter, singing. 

Blind Bartimeus at the gates 
Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
He hears the crowd ; — he hears a 

breath 
Say, It is Christ of Nazafpth \ 
And calls, in tones of agony, 

'ItjctoO, eAeijcrdi/ fie ! 

The thronging multitudes in- 
crease : 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd, 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 
Until they say, He calleth thee ! n 

©apo-ei • eyeipcu., cpcovei <re ! 

Then saith the Christ, as silent 

stands 
The crowd, What wilt thou at my 

hands ? 
And he replies, Oh, give me light ! 
Eabbi, restore the blind man's 

sight ! 
And Jesus answers, "Ynaye • 

'H 7rtoTis crow a-ecroiKe <re / 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
In darkness and in misery, 20 

Eecall those mighty voices three, 

'ItjctoO, e\e7]<r6v ju,e / 
©apcrei • eyeipat, vnaye ! 
'H 7rio-Tts orov o-e'crw/ce <re ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Thy faith hath saved thee! Ah, 

how true that is ! 
For I had faith; and when the 

Master came 
Into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, 

fleeing 



From those who sought to slay 

Him, I went forth 
And cried unto Him, saying: Have 

mercy on me, 

Lord, thou Son of David! for 

my daughter 30 

Is grievously tormented with a 

devil. ' 
But He passed on, and answered 

not a word. 
And his disciples said, beseeching 

Him: 
Send her away ! She crieth after 

us! 
And then the Master answered 

them and said : 

1 am not sent but unto the lost 

sheep 
Of the House of Israel ! Then I 

worshipped Him, 
Saying : Lord, help me ! And He 

answered me, 
It is not meet to take the children's 

bread 
And cast it unto dogs! Truth, 

Lord, I said ; 40 

And yet the dogs may eat the 

crumbs which fall 
From off their master's table ; and 

He turned, 
And answered me ; and said to 

me : O woman, 
Great is thy faith ; then be it untr 

thee 
Even as thou wilt. And from thac 

very hour 
Thou wast made whole, my dar- 
ling ! my delight ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

There came upon my dark and 

troubled mind 
A calm, as when the tumult of the 

city 
Suddenly ceases, and I lie and hear 
The silver trumpets of the Temple 

blowing 50 

Their welcome to the Sabbath. 

Still I wonder, 
That one who was so far away 

from me, 



'5i° 



CHRISTUS:' A MYSTERY 



And could not see me, by his 

thought alone 
Had power to heal me. Oh that I 

could see Him ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Perhaps thou wilt; for I have 

brought thee here 
To keep the holy Passover, and 

lay 
Thine offering of thanksgiving on 

the altar. 
Thou mayst both see and hear 

Him. Hark! 

voices afar off. 

Hosanna ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

A crowd comes pouring through 
the city gate ! 59 

O mother, look ! 

VOICES in the street, 

Hosanna to the Son 
Of David! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

A great multitude of people 

Fills all the street ; and riding on 
an ass 

Comes one of noble aspect, like a 
king! 

The people spread their garments 
in the way, 

And scatter branches of the palm- 
trees ! 

VOICES. 

Blessed 
Is He that cometh in the name of 

the Lord ; 
Hosanna in the highest ! 

OTHER VOICES. 

Who is this ? 

VOICES. 

Jesus of Nazareth ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

Mother, it is He ! 



VOICES. 

He hath called Lazarus of Beth- 
any 

Out of his grave, and raised him 
from the dead ! 70 

Hosanna in the highest ! 

PHARISEES. 

Ye perceive 
That nothing we prevail. Behold, 

the world 
Is all gone after him ! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

What majesty, 
What power is in that careworn 

countenance ! 
What sweetness, what compas- 
sion ! I no longer 
Wonder that He hath healed me ! 

VOICES. 

Peace in heaven, 
And glory in the highest ! 

PHARISEES. 

Kabbi! Rabbi! 
Rebuke thy followers ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Should they hold their peace 
The very stones beneath us would 
cry out! 

THE DAUGHTER. 

All hath passed by me like a dream 
of wonder ! 80 

But I have seen Him, and have 
heard his voice, 

And I am satisfied! I ask no 
more ! 



II 



SOLOMON'S PORCH 
GAMALIEL THE SCRIBE. 

When Rabban Simeon, upon whom 

be peace ! 
Taught in these Schools, he 

boasted that his pen 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5" 



Had written no word that he 
could call his own, 

But wholly and always had heen 
consecrated 

To the transcribing of the Law 
and Prophets. 

He used to say, and never tired of 
saying, 

The world itself was built upon 
the Law. 

And ancient Hillel said, that who- 
soever 90 

Gains a good name, gains some- 
thing for himself, 

But he who gains a knowledge of 
the Law 

Gains everlasting life. And they 
spake truly. 

Great is the Written Law; but 
greater still 

The Unwritten, the Traditions of 
the Elders, 

The lovely words of Levites, spo- 
ken first 

To Moses on the Mount, and 
handed down 

From mouth to mouth, in one un- 
broken sound 

And sequence of divine author- 
ity, 

The voice of God resounding 
through the ages. 100 

The Written Law is water; the 

Unwritten 
Is precious wine; the Written 

Law is salt, 
The Unwritten costly spice; the 

Written Law 
Ts but the body; the Unwritten, 

the soul 
That quickens it and makes it 

breathe and live. 
I can remember, many years ago, 
A little bright-eyed school-boy, a 

mere stripling, 
Son of a Galilean carpenter, 
From Nazareth, I think, who 

came one day 
And sat here in the Temple with 

the Scribes, no 



Hearing us speak, and asking 

many questions, 
And we were all astonished at his 

quickness. 
And when his mother came, and 

said : Behold 
Thy father and I have sought 

thee, sorrowing; 
He looked as one astonished, and 

made answer, 
How is it that ye sought me? 

Wist ye not 
That I must be about my Father's 

business ? 
Often since then I see him here 

among us, 
Or dream I see him, with his up- 
raised face 
Intent and eager, and I often 

wonder 120 

Unto what manner of manhood 

he hath grown ! 
Perhaps a poor mechanic like his 

father, 
Lost in his little Galilean village 
And toiling at his craft, to die un- 
known 
And be no more remembered 

among men. 

Chkistus in the outer court. 

The Scribes and Pharisees sit in 

Moses' seat ; 
All, therefore, whatsoever they 

command you, 
Observe and do ; but follow not 

their works ; 
They say and do not. They bind 

heavy burdens 
And very grievous to be borne, 

and lay them 130 

Upon men's shoulders, but they 

move them not 
With so much as a finger ! 

GAMALIEL, looking forth. 

Who is this 
Exhorting in the outer courts so 
loudly ? 



5" 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHKISTUS. 


Samaritan, and hath an unclean 


Their works they do for to be seen 


spirit ! 


of men. 




They make broad their phylacter- 


CHKISTUS. 


ies, and enlarge 


Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 


The borders of their garments, 


Pharisees, 


and they love 


Ye hypocrites! ye compass sea 


The uppermost rooms at feasts, 


and land 


and the chief seats 


To make one proselyte, and when 


In Synagogues, and greetings in 


he is made 


the markets, 


Ye make him twofold more the 


And to be called of all men Rabbi, 


child of hell 


Rabbi ! 


Than you yourselves are ! 


GAMALIEL. 


GAMALIEL. 


It is that loud and turbulent Gali- 


my father's father ! 


lean, 140 


Hillel of blessed memory, hear and 


That came here at the Feast of 


judge ! 160 


Dedication, 




And stirred the people up to 


CHKISTUS. 


break the Law ! 


Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 




Pharisees, 


CHKISTUS. 


Ye hypocrites ! for ye pay tithe 


Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 


of mint, 


Pharisees, 


Of anise, and of cumin, and omit 


Ye hypocrites ! for ye shut up the 


The weightier matters of the law 


kingdom 


of God, 


Of heaven, and neither go ye in 


Judgment and faith and mercy ; 


yourselves 


and all these 


Nor suffer them that are entering 


Ye ought to have done, nor leave 


to go in ! 


undone the others ! 


GAMALIEL. 


GAMALIEL. 


How eagerly the people throng 


Rabban Simeon ! how must thy 


and listen, 


bones 


As if his ribald words were words 


Stir in their grave to hear such 


of wisdom ! 


blasphemies ! 


CHKISTUS. 


CHKISTUS. 


Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 


Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 


Pharisees, 


Pharisees, 


Ye hypocrites ! for ye devour the 


Ye hypocrites ! for ye make clean 


houses 150 


and sweet 170 


Of widows, and for pretence ye 


The outside of the cup and of the 


make long prayers ; 


platter, 


Therefore shall ye receive the 


But they within are full of all ex« 


more damnation. 


cess ! 


GAMALIEL. 


GAMALIEL. 


This brawler is no Jew, — he is a 


Patience of God! canst thou en- 


vile 


dure so long ? 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5*3 



Or art thou deaf, or gone upon a 
journey ? 

CHRISTUS. 

"Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 
Pharisees, 

Ye hypocrites ! for ye are very like 

To whited sepulchres, which in- 
deed appear 

Beautiful outwardly, but are with- 
in 

Filled full of dead men's bones 
and all uncleanness ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Am I awake? Is this Jerusa- 
lem? 180 

And are these Jews that throng 
and stare and listen? 

CHRISTUS. 

Woe unto you, ye Scribes and 

Pharisees, 
Ye hypocrites ! because ye build 

the tombs 
Of prophets, and adorn the sepul- 
chres 
Of righteous men, and say : If we 

had lived 
"When lived our fathers, we would 

not have been 
Partakers with them in the blood 

of Propbets. 
So ye be witnesses unto your- 
selves, 
That ye are children of them that 

killed the Prophets ! 
Fill ye up then the measure of 

your fathers. 190 

I send unto you Prophets and 

Wise Men, 
And Scribes, and some ye crucify, 

and some 
Scourge in your Synagogues, and 

persecute 
From city to city; that on you 

may come 
The righteous blood that hath 

been shed on earth, 
From the blood of righteous Abel 

to the blood 



Of Zacharias, son of Barachias, 
Ye slew between the Temple and 
the altar ! 

GAMALIEL. 

Oh, had I here my subtle dialecti- 
cian, 

My little Saul of Tarsus, the tent- 
maker, ?.oo 

Whose wit is sharper than his 
needle's point, 

He would delight to foil this noisy 
wrangler ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! O thou 

That killest the Prophets, and that 
stonest them 

Which are sent unto thee, how 
often would I 

Have gathered together thy chil- 
dren, as a hen 

Gathereth her chickens under, 
neath her wing, 

And ye would not ! Behold, your 
house is left 

Unto you desolate ! 

THE PEOPLE. 

This is a Prophet ! 

This is the Christ that was to 

come ! 210 

GAMALIEL. 

Ye fools ! 
Think ye, shall Christ come out of 
Galilee ? 



Ill 

LORD, IS IT I? 

CHRISTUS. 

One of you shall betray me. 

THE DISCIPLES. 



Is it I ? 



Lord, is it I? 



CHRISTUS. 

One of the Twelve it is 



5*4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



That dippeth with me in this dish 


PETER. 


his hand ; 


"Wherefore can I not follow thee? 


He shall betray me. Lo, the Son 


I am ready 


of Man 


To go with thee to prison and to 


Goeth indeed as it is written of 


death. 


Him; 




But woe shall be unto that man by 


CHRISTUS. 


whom 


Verily say I unto thee, this night, 


He is betrayed ! Good were it for 


Ere the cock crow, thou shalt deny 


that man 


me thrice ! 


If he had ne'er been born ! 






PETER. 


JUDAS ISCARIOT. 


Though I should die, yet will I not 


Lord, is it I ? 


deny thee. 


CHRISTUS. 


CHRISTUS. 


Ay, thou hast said. And that thou 


When first I sent you forth with- 


doest, do quickly. 220 


out a purse, 




Or scrip, or shoes, did ye lack any- 


judas iscariot, going out, 


thing? 239 


Ah, woe is me ! 


THE DISCIPLES. 


CHRISTUS. 


Not anything. 


All ye shall be offended 


CHRISTUS. 


Because of me this night ; for it is 


But he that hath a purse, 


written : 
Awake, sword against my shep- 


Now let him take it, and likewise 
his scrip; 


herd ! Smite 


And he that hath no sword, let 


The shepherd, saith the Lord of 


him go sell 
His clothes and buy one. That 


hosts, and scattered 


Shall be the sheep ! — But after I . 


which hath been written 


am risen 
I go before you into Galilee. 


Must be accomplished now : He 
hath poured out 




His soul even unto death ; he hath 


PETER. 


been numbered 


Master! though all men shall 


With the transgressors, and him- 


be offended 


self hath borne 


Because of thee, yet will not I be ! 


The sin of many, and made inter- 




cession 


CHRISTUS. 


For the transgressors. And here 


Simon, 


have an end 


Behold how Satan hath desired to 


The things concerning me. 


have you, 




That he may sift you as one sift- 


PETER. 


eth wheat! 230 


Behold, Lord, 


Whither I go thou canst not follow 


Behold, here are two swords ! 


me — 
Not now; but thou shalt follow 


CHRISTUS. 


me hereafter. 


It is enough. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



515 



IV 
THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE 

CHRISTUS. 

My spirit is exceeding sorrowful 
Even unto death ! Tarry ye here 
and watch. 252 

He goes apart. 

PETER. 

Under this ancient olive-tree, that 

spreads 
Its broad centennial branches like 

a tent, 
Let us lie down and rest. 

JOHN. 

What are those torches, 
That glimmer on Brook Kedron 
there below us ? 

JAMES. 

It is some marriage feast ; the joy- 
ful maidens 
Go out to meet the bridegroom. 

PET,KR. 

I am weary. 
The struggles of this day have 
overcome me. 
They 



CHRIsttts, falling on his face. 
Father ! all things are possible to 

thee, — 260 

Oh let this cup pass from me ! 

Nevertheless 
Not as I will, but as thou wilt, be 

done .' 

Returning to the Disciples. 

"What ! could ye not watch with me 

for one hour ? 
Oh watch and pray, that ye may 

enter not 
Into temptation. For the spirit 

indeed 
Is willing, but the flesh is weak ! 



JOHN. 



Alas J 



It is for sorrow that our eyes are 
heavy. — 

I see again the glimmer of those 
torches 

Among the olives; they are com- 
ing hither. 

JAMES. 

Outside the garden wall the path 
divides ; 270 

Surely they come not hither. 
They sleep again. 

christus, as before. 

O my Father ! 
If this cup may not pass away 

from me, 
Except I drink of it, thy will be 
done. 
Returning to the Disciples. 
Sleep on ; and take your rest ! 

JOHN. 

Beloved Master, 
Alas ! we know not what to an- 
swer thee ! 
It is for sorrow that our eyes are 

heavy. — 
Behold, the torches now encom. 
pass us. 

JAMES. 

They do but go about the garden 
wall, 

Seeking for some one, or for some- 
thing lost. 

They sleep again. 

christus, as before. 
If this cup may not pass away 

from me, 280 

Except I drink of it, thy will be 

done. 
Returning to the Disciples. 
It is enough ! Behold, the Son of 

Man 
Hath been betrayed into the hands 

of sinners ! 
The hour is come. Eise up, let us 

be going ; 
For he that shall betray me is at 

hand. 



5i6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



JOHN. 


Me only, let these others go their 


Ah me! See, from his forehead, 


way. 


in the torchlight, 


The Disciples depart. Christus 


Great drops of hlood are falling to 


is bound and led away. A cer- 


the ground ! 


tain young man follows Him, 




having a linen cloth cast about 


PETER. 


his body. They lay hold of him, 


What lights are these? What 


and the young man flees from 


torches glare and glisten 


them^ naked. 


Upon the swords and armor of 




these men? 


V 


And there among them Judas Is- 




cariot ! ■ 290 


THE PALACE OF CAIAPHAS 


He smites the servant of the High- 




Priest with his sword. 


PHARISEES. 




What do we? Clearly something 


CHRISTUS. 


must we do, 


Put up thy sword into its sheath ; 


For this man worketh many mira- 


for they 


cles. 


That take the sword shall perish 




with the sword. 


CAIAPHAS. 


The cup my Father hath given me 


I am informed that he is a me- 


to drink, 


chanic ; 


Shall I not drink it ? Think'st thou 


A carpenter's son; a Galilean 


that I cannot 


peasant, 


Pray to my Father, and that He 


Keeping disreputable company. 


shall give me 




More than twelve legions of angels 


PHARISEES. 


presently? 


The people say that here in Beth- 




any 310 


judas to christus, kissing him. 


He hath raised up a certain Laz- 


Hail, Master ! hail ! 


arus, 




Who had been dead three days. 


CHRISTUS. 




Friend, wherefore art thou come ? 


CAIAPHAS. 


Whom seek ye ? 


Impossible 5 




There is no resurrection of the 


CAPTAIN OF THE TEMPLE. 


dead; 


Jesus of Nazareth. 


This Lazarus should be taken, and 




put to death 


CHRISTUS. 


As an impostor. If this Galilean 


I am he. 


Would be content to stay in Gali- 


Are ye come hither as against a 


lee, 


thief, 


And preach in country towns, I 


With swords and staves to take 


should not heed him. 


me? When I daily 300 


But when he comes up to Jerusa- 


Was with you in the Temple, ye 


lem 


stretched forth 


Biding in triumph, as I am in- 


"No hands to take me ! But this is 


formed, 


your hour, 


And drives the money-changers 


And this the power of darkness. 


from the Temple, 320 


If ye seek 


That is another matter. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



5*7 



PHARISEES. 


Have taken this Prophet, this 


If we thus 


young Nazarene, 


Let him alone, all will believe on 


Who by Beelzebub the Prince of 


him, 


devils 


And then the Komans come and 


Casteth out devils, and doth raise 


take away 


the dead, 


Our place and nation. 


That might as well be dead, and 




left in peace. 


CAIAPHAS. 


Annas my father-in-law hath sent 


Ye know nothing at all. 


him hither. 


Simon Ben Camith, my great pre- 


I hear the guard. Behold your 


decessor, 


Galilean ! 


On whom be peace! would have 


Christus is brought in bound. 


dealt presently 




With such a demagogue. I shall 


servant, in the vestibule. 


no less. 


Why art thou up so late, my pretty 


The man must die. Do ye con- 


damsel? 350 


sider not 




It is expedient that one man should 

die, 
Not the whole nation perish? 


DAMSEL. 


Why art thou up so early, pretty 


What is death? 330 
It differeth from sleep but in dura- 
tion. 


man? 
It is not cock-crow yet, and art 
thou stirring ? 


We sleep and wake again ; an bour 
or two 


SERVANT. 


Later or earlier, and it matters 

not, 
And if we never wake it matters 


What brings thee here ? 


DAMSEL. 


not; 


What brings the rest of you? 


When we are in our graves we are 




at peace, 


SERVANT. 


Nothing can wake us or disturb 


Come here and warm thy hands. 


us more. 




There is no resurrection. 


DAMSEL to PETER. 


Pharisees, aside. 


Art thou not also 


most faithful 


One of this man's disciples ? 


Disciple of Hircanus Maccabseus, 




Will nothing but complete anni- 


PETER. 


hilation 


I am not. 


Comfort and satisfy thee ? 


DAMSEL. 


CAIAPHAS. 


Now surely thou art also one of 


While ye are talking 


them; 


And plotting, and contriving how 


Thou art a Galilean, and thy 


to take him, 341 


speech 


Fearing the people, and so doing 


Bewrayeth thee. 


naught, 




I, who fear not the people, have 


PETER. 


been acting ; 


Woman, I know him not ! 



5*8 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



CAIAPHAS to CHRISTUS in the 
Hall. 
Who art thou? Tell us plainly of 

thyself 
And of thy doctrines, and of thy 
disciples. 360 

CHRISTUS. 

Lo, I have spoken openly to the 
world, 

I have taught ever in the Syna- 
gogue, 

And in the Temple, where the 
Jews resort ; 

In secret have said nothing. 
Wherefore then 

Askest thou me of this ? Ask them 
that heard me 

What I have said to them. Be- 
hold, they know . 

What I have said ! 

OFFICER, striking him. 
What, fellow ! answerest thou 
The High-Priest so ? 

CHRISTUS. 

If I have spoken evil, 
Bear witness of the evil ; but if well, 
Why smitest thou me ? 

CAIAPHAS. 

Where are the witnesses? 
Let them say what they know. 

THE TWO FALSE WITNESSES. 

We heard him say : 
I will destroy this Temple made 

with hands, 37 2 

And will within three days build 

up another 
Made without hands. 

SCRIBES and PHARISEES. 

He is o'erwhelmed with shame 
And cannot answer ! 

CAIAPHAS. 

Dost thou answer nothing? 
What is this thing they witness 
here against thee ? 



scribes and Pharisees. 
He holds his peace. 

CAIAPHAS. 

Tell us, art thou the Christ? 
I do adjure thee by the living God, 
Tell us, art thou indeed the Christ ? 

CHRISTUS. 

I am. 

Hereafter shall ye see the Son oi 
Man 380 

Sit on the right hand of the power 
of God, 

And come in clouds of heaven ! 

CAiaphas, rending his clothes. 
It is enough. 
He hath spoken blasphemy ! What 

further need 
Have we of witnesses? Now ye 

have heard 
His blasphemy. What think ye? 
Is he guilty? 

scribes and Pharisees. 
Guilty of death ! 

KINSMAN OF MALCHUS to PETER, 

in the vestibule. 
Surely I know thy face, 
Did I not see thee in the garden 
with him? 

PETER. 

How couldst thou see me ? I swear 
unto thee 

I do not know this man of whom 
ye speak ! 

The cock crows. 

Hark ! the cock crows ! That sor- 
rowful, pale face 390 

Seeks for me in the crowd, and 
looks at me, 

As if He would remind me of those 
words : 

Ere the cock crow thou shalt deny 
me thrice ! 

Goes out weeping. Christus is 
blindfolded and buffeted. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



519 



AN officer, striking him with 

his palm. 
Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, 

thou Prophet ! 
Who is it smote thee? 

CAIAPHAS. 

Lead him unto Pilate ! 



VI 

PONTIUS PILATE 

PILATE. 
Wholly incomprehensible to me, 
Vainglorious, obstinate, and given 

up 
To unintelligible old traditions, 
And proud, and self-conceited are 

these Jews ! 
Not long ago, I marched the legions 

down 400 

From Caesarea to their winter- 
quarters 
Here in Jerusalem, with the effi- 
gies 
Of Caesar on their ensigns, and a 

tumult 
Arose among these Jews, because 

their Law 
Forbids the making of all images ! 
They threw themselves upon the 

ground with wild 
Expostulations, bared their necks, 

and cried 
That they would sooner die than 

have their Law 
Infringed in any manner; as if 

Numa 
Were not as great as Moses, and 

the Laws 410 

Of the Twelve Tables as their 

Pentateuch ! 

And then, again, when I desired to 
span 

Their valley with an aqueduct, 
and bring 

A rushing river in to wash the city 

And its inhabitants, — they all re- 
belled 



As if they had been herds of un- 
washed swine ! 

Thousands and thousands of them 
got together 

And raised so great a clamor 
round my doors, 

That, fearing violent outbreak, I 
desisted, 

And left them to their wallowing 
in the mire. 420 

And now here comes the reverend 

Sanhedrim 
Of lawyers, priests, and Scribes 

and Pharisees, 
Like old and toothless mastiffs, 

that can bark 
But cannot bite, howling their 

accusations 
Against a mild enthusiast, who 

hath preached 
I know not what new doctrine, 

, being King 
Of some vague kingdom in the 

other world, 
That hath no more to do with 

Rome and Caesar 
Than I have with the patriarch 

Abraham ! 429 

Finding this man to be a Galilean 
I sent him straight to Herod, and 

I hope 
That is the last of it ; but if it be not, 
I still have power to pardon and 

release him, 
As is the custom at the Passover, 
And so accommodate the matter 

smoothly, 
Seeming to yield to them, yet sav- 
ing him ; 
A prudent and sagacious policy 
For Eoman Governors in the Pro- 
vinces. 

Incomprehensible, fanatic people .' 
Ye have a God, who seemeth like 

yourselves 440 

Incomprehensible, dwelling apart, 
Majestic, cloud - encompassed, 

clothed in darkness ! 
One whom ye fear, but love not; 

yet ye have 



5 20 



CHRISTUSs A MYSTERY 



No Goddesses to soften your stern 

lives, 
And make you tender unto human 

weakness, 
While we of Rome have every- 
where around us 
Our amiable divinities, that haunt 
The woodlands, and the waters, 

and frequent 
Our households, with their sweet 

and gracious presence ! 
I will go in, and while these Jews 

are wrangling, ' 450 

Read my Ovidius on the Art of 

Love. 



VII 

BARABBAS IN PRISON 

BARABBAS, to his fellow-prisoners. 
Barabbas is my name, 
Barabbas, the Son of Shame, 

Is the meaning I suppose ; 
I 'm no better than the best, 
And whether worse than the rest 

Of my fellow-men, who knows ? 

I was once, to say it in brief, 
A highwayman, a robber-chief, 

In the open light of day. 460 
So much I am free to confess ; 
But all men, more or less, 

Are robbers in their way. 

From my cavern in the crags, 
From my lair of leaves and flags, 

I could see, like ants, below, 
The camels with their load 
Of merchandise, on the road 

That leadeth to Jericho. 

And I struck them unaware, 470 
As an eagle from the air 

Drops down upon bird or beast ; 
And I had my heart's desire 
Of the merchants of Sidon and 
Tyre, 

And Damascus and the East. 



But it is not for that I fear ; 
It is not for that I am here 

In these iron fetters bound ; 
Sedition ! that is the word 
That Pontius Pilate heard, 

And he liketh not the sound. 



480 



What think ye, would he care 
For a Jew slain here or there, 

Or a plundered caravan? 
But Csesar ! — ah, that is a crime 5 
To the uttermost end of time 

Shall not be forgiven to man. 

Therefore was Herod wroth 
With Matthias Margaloth, 

And burned him for a show ! 4^0 
Therefore his wrath did smite 
Judas the Gaulonite, 

And his followers, as ye know. 

For that cause and no more, 
Am I here, as I said before ; 

For one unlucky night, 
Jucundus, the captain of horse, 
Was upon us with all his force, 

And I was caught in the fight. 

I might have fled with the rest, 
But my dagger was in the breast 

Of a Roman equerry ; 502 

As we rolled there in the street, 
They bound me, hands and feet ; 

And this is the end of me. 

Who cares for death? Not I ! 
A thousand times I would die, 

Rather than suffer wrong ! 
Already those women of mine 
Are mixing the myrrh and the 
wine; 510 

I shall not be with you long. 

VIII 

ECCE HOMO 

pilate, on the tessellated pave- 

ment in front of his palace. 
Ye have brought unto me this man, 
as one 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



521 



Who doth pervert the people ; and 

behold ! 
I have examined him, and found 

no fault 
Touching the things whereof ye 

do accuse him. 
No, nor yet Herod ; for I sent you 

to him, 
And nothing worthy of death he 

findeth in him. 
Ye have a custom at the Pass- 
over, 
That one condemned to death shall 

be released. 
Whom will ye, then, that I release 

to you? 520 

Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of 

Shame, 
Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, called the 

Christ ? 

the people, shouting. 
Not this man, but Barabbas ! 

PILATE. 

What then will ye 
That I should do with him that is 
called Christ? 

THE PEOPLE. 

Crucify him ! 

PILATE. 

Why, what evil hath he done ? 
Lo, I have found no cause of death 

in him ; 
I will chastise him, and then let 

him go. 

the people, more vehemently. 
Crucify him ! crucify him ! 

A MESSENGER, to PILATE. 

Thy wife sends 
This message to thee, — Have thou 

naught to do 
With that just man ; for I this day 
in dreams 530 

Have suffered many things be- 
cause of him. 



pilate, aside. 
The Gods speak to us in our 

dreams ! I tremble 
At what I have to do ! O Claudia, 
How shall I save him? Yet one 

effort more, 
Or he must perish ! 
Washes his hands before them. 
I am innocent 
Of the blood of this just person; 
see ye to it ! 

THE people. 
Let his blood be on us and on our 
children ! 

voices, within the palace. 
Put on thy royal robes ; put on thy 

crown, 
And take thy sceptre ! Hail, thou 

King of the Jews ! 

PILATE. 

I bring him forth to you, that ye 
may know 540 

I find no fault in him. Behold the 
man! 

Christus is led in with the pur- 
ple robe and crown of thorns. 

chief priests and officers. 
Crucify him ! crucify him ! 



Take ye him ; 
I find no fault in him. 

chief priests. 

We have a Law, 
And by our Law he ought to die ; 

because 
He made himself to be the Son of 
God. 

pilate, aside. 
Ah! there are Sons of God, and 

demi-gods 
More than ye know, ye ignorant 

High-Priests ! 



522 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



To CHRISTUS. 


Blood-stained in Roman amphi- 


Whence art thou ? 


theatres, — 




Take him, and crucify him if ye 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 


Avill ; 


Crucify him ! crucify him ! 


But if the immortal Gods do ever 

mingle 
With the affairs of mortals, which 


PILATE, to CHRISTUS. 


Dost thou not answer me? Dost 


I doubt not, 


thou not know 


And hold the attribute of justice 


That I have power enough to cru- 


dear, 


cify thee? 5 50 


They will commission the Eumen- 


That I have also power to set thee 


ides 


free? 


To scatter you to the four winds 




of heaven, 570 


CHRISTUS. 


Exacting tear for tear, and blood 


Thou couldest have no power at 


for blood. 


all against me 


Here, take ye this inscription, 


Except that it were given thee 


Priests, and nail it 


from above ; 


Upon the cross, above your vic- 


Therefore hath he that sent me 


tim's head : 


unto thee 


Jesus of Nazareth, King of the 


The greater sin. 


Jews. 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 


If thou let this man go, 


Nay, we entreat! write not, the 


Thou art not Caesar's friend. For 


King of the Jews ; 


whosoever 


But that he said : I am the King 


Maketh himself a King, speaks 


of the Jews ! 


against Csesar. 






PILATE. 


PILATE. 


Enough. What I have written, I 


Ye Jews, behold your King ! 


have written. 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 




Away with him ! 


IX 


Crucify him r 






ACELDAMA 


PILATE. 




Shall I crucify your King ? 


JUDAS ISCARIOT. 




Lost! lost! Forever lost! I have 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 


betrayed 


We have no King but Caesar ! 


The innocent blood! God! if 




thou art love, 


PILATE. 


Why didst thou leave me naked to 


Take him, then, 


the tempter ? 580 


Take him, ye cruel and blood- 


Why didst thou not commission 


thirsty Priests, 561 


thy swift lightning 


More merciless than the plebeian 


To strike me dead? or why did I 


mob, 


not perish 


Who pity and spare the fainting 


With those by Herod slain, the in- 


gladiator 


nocent children 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



523 



Who went witb playthings in their 

little hands 
Into the darkness of the other 

world, 
As if to hed ? Or wherefore was I 

horn, 
If thou in thy foreknowledge didst 

perceive 
All that I am, and all that I must 

be? 
I know I am not generous, am not 

gentle, 
Like other men ; hut I have tried 

to be, 590 

And I have failed. I thought by 

following Him 
I should grow like Him ; but the 

unclean spirit 
That from my childhood up hath 

tortured me 
Hath been too cunning and too 

strong for me. 
Am I to blame for this ? Am I to 

blame 
Because I cannot love, and ne'er 

have known 
The love of woman or the love of 

children ? 
It is a curse and a fatality, 
A mark, that hath been set upon 

my forehead, 
That none shall slay me, for it 

were a mercy 600 

That I were dead, or never had 

been born. 

Too late ! too late ! I shall not see 

Him more 
Among the living. That sweet, 

patient face 
Will never more rebuke me, nor 

those lips 
Repeat the words : One of you 

shall betray me ! 
It stung me into madness. How 

I loved, 
Yet nated Him ! But in the other 

world ! 
I will be there before Him, and 

will wait 



Until he comes, and fall down on 
my knees 

And kiss his feet, imploring par- 
don, pardon! 610 

I heard Him say: All sins shall 

be forgiven, 
Except the sin against the Holy 

Ghost. 
That shall not be forgiven in this 

world, 
Nor in the world to come. Is that 

my sin? 
Have I offended so there is no 

hope 
Here nor hereafter? That I soon 

shall know. 
O God, have mercy ! Christ have 

mercy on me ! 
Throws himself headlong from 
the cliff. 



THE THREE CROSSES 

MANAHEM, THE ESSENIAN. 

Three crosses in this noonday 
night uplifted, 

Three human figures that in mor- 
tal pain 

Gleam white against the super- 
natural darkness ; 620 

Two thieves, that writhe in torture, 
and between them 

The Suffering Messiah, the Son of 
Joseph, 

Ay, the Messiah Triumphant, Son 
of David ! 

A crown of thorns on that dishon- 
ored head ! 

Those hands that healed the sick 
now pierced with nails, 

Those feet that wandered home- 
less through the world 

Now crossed and bleeding, and at 
rest forever ! 

And the three faithful Maries, 
overwhelmed 



524 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



By this great sorrow, kneeling, 


Shine through the darkness, and 


praying, weeping ! 


shall conquer pain 


Joseph Caiaphas, thou great 


By the triumphant memory of this 


High-Priest, 630 


hour ! 


How wilt thou answer for this 




deed of blood? 


SIMON MAGUS. 




Nazarene ! I find thee here at 


SCRIBES and ELDERS. 


last! 


Thou that destroyest the Temple, 


Thou art no more a phantom unto 


and dost build it 


me! 


In three days, save thyself; and if 


This is the end of one who called 


thou be 


himself 650 


The Son of God, come down now 


The Son of God ! Such is the fate 


from the cross. 


of those 




Who preach new doctrines. 'T is 


CHIEF PRIESTS. 


not what he did, 


Others he saved, himself he cannot 


But what he said, hath brought 


save ! 


him unto this. 


Let Christ the King of Israel de- 


I will speak evil of no dignitaries. 


scend 


This is my hour of triumph, Naza 


That we may see and believe ! 


rene ! 


scribes and elders. 


THE YOUNG RULER. 


In God he trusted ; 


This is the end of him who said to 


Let Him deliver him, if He will 


me: 


have him, 


Sell that thou hast, and give unto 


And we will then believe. 


the poor ! 




This is the treasure in heaven he 


CHRISTUS. 


promised me ! 


Father ! forgive them ; 




They know not what they do. 


CHRISTUS. 




Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani ! 


THE IMPENITENT THIEF. 




If thou be Christ, 


A soldier, preparing the hyssop. 


Oh save thyself and us ! 


He calleth for Elias ! 


THE PENITENT THIEF. 


ANOTHER. 


Eemember me, 


Nay, let be l 


Lord, when thou comest into thine 


See if Elias now will come to save 


own kingdom. 642 


him ! 66 1 


CHRISTUS. 


CHRISTUS. 


Tliis day shalt thou be with me in 


I thirst. 


Paradise. 






A SOLDIER, 


MANAHEM. 


Give him the wormwood ! 


Golgotha! Golgotha! Oh the pain 




and darkness ! 


CHRISTUS, with a loud cry, bom 


Oh the uplifted cross, that shall 


ing his head. 


forever 


It is finished! 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



525 



XI 


Into the hands of sinful men ; by 




them 


THE TWO MARIES 


Be crucified, and the third day rise 




again ! 


MARY MAGDALEN K. 


But go your way, and say to his 


We have arisen early, yet the sun 


disciples, 


O'ertakes us ere we reach the sepul- 


He goeth before you Into Galilee ; 


chre, 


There shall ye see Him as He said 


To wrap the body of our blessed 


to you. 


Lord 




With our sweet spices. 


MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. 




I will go swiftly for them. 


MARY, MOTHER OF' JAMES. 




Lo, this is the garden, 


MARY MAGDALENE, alone, Vjeep- 


And yonder is the sepulchre. But 


in'./- 


who 


They have taken 


Shall roll away the stone for us to 


My Lord away from me, and now 


enter ? 


I know not 




Where they have laid Him ! Who 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


is there to tell me? 


It hath been rolled away ! The 


This is the gardener. Surely he 


sepulchre 


must know. 


Is open I Ah, who hath been here 




before us, 670 


CHRISTUS. 


When we rose early, wishing to be 


Woman, why weepest thou? Whom 


first? 


seekestthou? 690 


MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


I am affrighted ! 


They have taken my Lord away ; 




I cannot find Him. 


MARY MAGDALENE. 


Sir, if thou have borne him hence, 


Hush ! I will stoop down 


I pray thee 


And look within. There is a young 


Tell me where thou hast laid Him. 


man sitting 




On the rigbt side, clothed in a long 


CHRISTUS. 


white garment ! 


Mary! 


It is an angel! 






MARY MAGDALENE. 


THE ANGEL. 


Rabboni I 


Fear not ; ye are seeking 




Jesus of Nazareth, which was cru- 


XII 


cified. 




Why do ye seek the living among 


THE SEA OF GALILEE 


the dead ? 




He is no longer here ; He is arisen ! 


NATHANAEL, in the ship. 


Come see the place where the 


All is now ended. 


Lord lay! Kemember 




How lie spake unto you in Gali- 


JOHN. 


lee, 680 


Nay, He is arisen, 


Baying : The Son of Man must be 


I ran unto the tomb, and stooping 


delivered 


down 



526 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Looked in, and saw the linen grave- 


'T is like an apparition. He hath 


clothes lying, 


kindled 


Yet dared not enter. 


A fire of coals, and seems to wait 




for us. 


PETER. 


He calleth. 


I went in, and saw 




The napkin that had been about 


Christ us, from the shore. 


his head, 


Children, have ye any meat ? 


Not lying with the other linen 




clothes, 


PETER. 


But wrapped together in a sepa- 


Alas ! We have caught nothing. 


rate place. 700 






CHRISTUS. 


THOMAS. 


Cast the nek 


And I have seen Him. I have 


On the right side of the ship, and 


seen the print 


ye shall find. 72** 


Of nails upon his hands, and thrust 




my hands 


PETER. 


Into his side. I know He is arisen ; 


How that reminds me of the days 


But where are now the kingdom 


gone by, 


and the glory 


And one who said : Launch out 


He promised unto us? We have 


into the deep, 


all dreamed 


And cast your nets ! 


That we were princes, and we 




wake to find 


NATHANAEL. 


We are but fishermen. 


We have but let them down 




And they are filled, so that we 


PETER. 


cannot draw them ! 


Who should have been 




Fishers of men ! 


JOHN. 




It is the Lord ! 


JOHN. 




We have come back again 


peter, girding his fisher's coat 


To the old life, the peaceful life, 


about him. 


among 


He said : When I am risen 


The white towns of the Galilean 


I will go before you into Galilee ! 


lake. 710 


He casts himself into the lake. 


PETER. 


JOHN. 


They seem to me like silent sepul- 


There is no fear in love ; for per- 


chres 


fect love 


In the gray light of morning ! The 


Casteth out fear. Now then, if ye 


old life, 


are men, 


Yea, the old life ! for we have 


Put forth your strength; we are 


toiled all night 


not far from shore ; 


And have caught nothing. 


The net is heavy, but breaks not. 




All is safe. 730 


JOHN. 




Do ye see a man 


peter, on the shore. 


Standing upon the beach and 


Dear Lord ! I heard thy voice and 


beckoning? 


1 could not wait. 



THE DIVINE TRAGEDY 



527 



Let me behold thy face, and kiss 

thy feet ! 
Thou art not dead, thou livest! 

Again I see thee. 
Pardon, dear Lord ! I am a sinful 

man; 
I have denied thee thrice. Have 

mercy on me ! 

the others, coming to land. 
Dear Lord ! stay with us ! cheer 

us ! comfort us ! 
Lo ! we again have found thee ! 

Leave us not ! 

CHRISTUS. 

Bring hither of the fish that ye 

have caught, 
And come and eat ! 

JOHN. 

Behold ! He breaketh bread 
As He was wont. From his own 

blessed hands 74 o 

Again we take it. 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 
Lovest thou me, more than these 
others ? 

PETER. 

Yea, 
More, Lord, than all men; even 

more than these. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 



PETER. 

Yea, dearest Lord, I love thee. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 



CHRISTUS. 

Feed my lambs. 

THOMAS, aside. 

How more than we do? He re- 
maineth ever 

Self-confident and boastful as be- 
fore. 

Nothing will cure him. 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 
Lovest thou me ? 



CHRISTUS. 

Feed my sheep. 

thomas, aside. 
Again, the selfsame question, and 

the answer t SO 

Repeated with more vehemence. 

Can the Master 
Doubt if we love Him ? 

CHRISTUS. 

Simon, son of Jonas, 
Lovest thou me ? 

peter, grieved. 
Dear Lord! thou knowest all 

things. 
Thou knowest that I love thee. 

CHRISTUS. 

Feed my sheep. 
When thou wast young thou gird- 

edst thyself, and walkedst 
Whither thou wouldst; but when 

thou shalt be old, 
Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, 

and other men 
Shall gird and carry thee whither 

thou wouldst not. 
Follow thou me ! 

JOHN, aside. 

It is a prophecy 
Of what death he shall die. 

PETER, pointing to JOHN. 

Tell me, O Lord, 
And what shall this man do ? 

CHRISTUS. 

And if I will 
He tarry till I come, what is it to 
thee ? 762 

Follow thou me ! 

PETER. 

Yea, I will follow thee, dear Lord 
and Master J 



528 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Will follow thee through fasting 

and temptation, 
Through all thine agony and 

bloody sweat, 
Thy cross and passion, even unto 

death ! 

EPILOGUE 

■3YMROLUM APOSTOLORUM 

PETER. 

I believe in God the Father 
Almighty ; 

JOHN. 

Maker of Heaven and Earth ; 

JAMES. 

And in Jesus Christ his only Son, 
our Lord ; 

ANDREW. 

Who was conceived by the Holy 
Ghost, born of the Virgin 
Mary; 

PHILIP. 

Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was 
crucified, dead, and buried ; 

THOMAS. 

And the third day He rose again 
from the dead ; 

BARTHOLOMEW. 

He ascended into Heaven, and sit- 
teth on the right hand of 
God, the Father Almighty ; 

MATTHEW. 

From thence He shall come to 
judge the quick and the dead. 

JAMES, THE SON OF ALPHEUS. 

I believe in the Holy Ghost ; the 
holy Catholic Church ; 

SIMON ZELOTES. 

The communion of Saints ; the for- 
giveness of sins ; 



JUDE. 

The resurrection of the body ; 

MATTHIAS. 

And the Life Everlasting. 

FIRST INTERLUDE 
THE ABBOT JOACHIM 

A ROOM IN THE CONVENT OP 
FLORA IN CALABRIA. NIGHT 

JOACHIM. 
The wind is rising ; it seizes and 

shakes 
The doors and window-blinds and 

makes 
Mysterious moanings in the halls ; 
The convent - chimneys seem al- 
most 
The trumpets of some heavenly 

host, 
Setting its watch upon our walls ! 
Where it listeth, there it blow- 

eth; 
We hear the sound, but no man 

knoweth 
Whence it cometh or whither it 

goeth, 
And thus it is with the Holy 

Ghost. 10 

breath of God ! O my delight 
In many a vigil of the night, 
Like the great voice in Patmos 

heard 
By John, the Evangelist of the 
Word, 

1 hear thee behind me saying: 

Write 

In a book the things that thou 
hast seen, 

The things that are, and that have 
been, 

And the things that shall here- 
after be ! 

This convent, on the rocky crest 
Of the Calabrian hills, to me 20 
A Patmos is wherein I rest ; 



THE ABBOT JOACHIM 



5 2 9 



While round about me like a sea 
The white mists roll, and over- 
flow 
The world that lies unseen below 
In darkness and in mystery. 
Here in the Spirit, in the vast 
Embrace of God's encircling arm, 
Am I uplifted from all harm ; 
The world seems something far- 
away, 
Something belonging to the Past, 
A hostelry, a peasant's farm, 3 1 
That lodged me for a night or 

day, 
In which I care not to remain, 
Nor having left, to see again. 

Thus, in the hollow of God's hand 
I dwelt on sacred Tabor's height, 
When as a simple acolyte 
I journeyed to the Holy Land, 
A pilgrim for my master's sake, 
And saw the Galilean Lake, 40 
And walked through many a vil- 
lage street 
That once had echoed to bis feet. 
There first I heard the great com- 
mand, 
The voice behind me saying: 

Write ! 
And suddenly my soul became 
Illumined by a flash of flame, 
That left imprinted on my thought 
The image I in vain had sought, 
And which forever shall remain ; 
As sometimes from these windows 
high, 50 

Gazing at midnight on the sky 
Black with a storm of wind and 

rain, 
I have beheld a sudden glare 
Of lightning lay the landscape 

bare, 
With tower and town and hill and 

plain 
Distinct, and burnt into my brain, 
Never to be effaced again ! 

And I have written. These vol- 
umes three, 
the Apocalypse, the Harmony 



Of the Sacred Scriptures, new and 
old, 60 

And the Psalter with Ten Strings, 
enfold 

Within their pages, all and each, 

The Eternal Gospel that I teach. 

Well I remember the Kingdom of 
Heaven 

Hath been likened to a little lea- 
ven 

Hidden in two measures of meal, 

Until it leavened the whole mass ; 

So likewise will it come to pass 

With the doctrines that I here 
conceal. 



Open and manifest to me 70 

The truth appears, and must be 

told; 
All sacred mysteries are three- 
fold; 
Three Persons in the Trinity, 
Three ages of Humanity, 
And Holy Scriptures likewise 

three, 
Of Fear, of Wisdom, and of Love ; 
For Wisdom that begins in Fear 
Endeth in Love ; the atmosphere 
In which the soul delights to 

be, 
And finds that perfect liberty 80 
Which cometh only from above. 

In the first Age, the early prime 

And dawn of all historic time, 

The Father reigned; and face to 
face 

He spake with the primeval race. 

Bright Angels, on his errands sent, 

Sat with the patriarch in his tent ; 

His prophets thundered in the 
street ; 

His lightnings flashed, his hail- 
storms beat ; 

In earthquake and in flood and 
flame, 90 

In tempest and in cloud He came ! 

The fear of God is in his Book ; 

The pages of the Pentateuch 

Are full of the terror of his name. 



53^ 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Then reigned the Son; his Cove- 
nant 

Was peace on earth, good- will to 
man; 

With Him the reign of Law be- 
gan. 

He was the Wisdom and the 
Word, 

And sent his Angels Ministrant, 

Unterrified and undeterred, 100 

To rescue souls forlorn and lost, 

The troubled, tempted, tempest- 
tost, 

To heal, to comfort, and to teach. 

The fiery tongues of Pentecost 

His symbols were, that they should 
preach 

in every form of human speech, 

From continent to continent. 

He is the Light Divine, whose 
rays 

Across the thousand years un- 
spent 

Shine through the darkness of our 
days, no 

And touch with their celestial fires 

Our churches and our convent 
spires. 

His Book is the New Testament. 

These Ages now are of the Past; 
And the Third Age begins at last. 
The coming of the Holy Ghost, 
The reign of Grace, the reign of 

Love 
Brightens the mountain-tops above, 
And the dark outline of the coast. 
Already the whole land is white 
With convent walls, as if by night 
A snow had fallen on hill and 
height ! 122 

Already from the streets and 

marts 
Of town and traffic, and low cares, 
Men climb the consecrated stairs 
With weary feet, and bleeding 

hearts ; 
And leave the world, and its de- 
lights, 



Its passions, struggles, and de- 
spairs, 
For contemplation and for prayers 
In cloister-cells of coenobites. 130 

Eternal benedictions rest 
Upon thy name, Saint Benedict ! 
Founder of convents in the West, 
Who built on Mount Cassino's 

crest 
In the Land of Labor, thine eagle's 

nest ! 
May I be found not derelict 
In aught of faith or godly fear, 
If I have written, in many a page, 
The Gospel of the coming age, 
The Eternal Gospel men shall 

hear. 140 

Oh may I live resembling thee, 
And die at last as thou hast 

died; 
So that hereafter men may see, 
Within the choir, a form of air, 
Standing with arms outstretched 

in prayer, 
As one that hath been crucified ! 

My work is finished ; I am strong 
In faith and hope and charity ; 
For I have written the things I 

see, 
The things that have been and 

shall be, 150 

Conscious of right, nor fearing 

wrong ; 
Because I am in love with Love, 
And the sole thing I hate is Hate ; 
For Hate is death; and Love is 

life, 
A peace, a splendor from above ; 
And Hate, a never-ending strife. 
A smoke, a blackness from the 

abyss 
Where unclean serpents coil and 

hiss! 
Love is the Holy Ghost within ; 
Hate the unpardonable sin ! 160 
Who preaches otherwise than this, 
Betrays his Master with a kiss ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



531 



PART TWO 


Pestem fugo ! 




Festa decoro ! 


THE GOLDEN LEGEND 






LUCIFER. 


PKOLOGUE 


Shake the casements ! 


THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG 


Break the painted 


CATHEDRAL 


Panes, that flame with gold and 




crimson ; 


Night and storm. Lucifer, with 


Scatter them like leaves of Au- 


the Powers of the Air, trying to 


tumn, 


tear down the cross. 


Swept away before the blast ! 


LUCIFER. 


VOICES. 


Hasten! hasten! 


Oh, we cannot .' 


ye spirits ! 


The Archangel 


From its station drag the ponder- 


Michael flames from every win- 


ous 


dow, 


Cross of iron, that to mock us 


With the sword of fire that drove us 


Is uplifted high in air ! 


Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! 


VOICES. 


THE BELLS, 


Oh, we cannot ! 


Funera plango ! 


For around it 


Fulgura frango ! 


All the Saints and Guardian An- 


Sabbata pango ! 


gels 




Throng in legions to protect it ; 


LUCIFER. 


They defeat us everywhere ! 


Aim your lightnings 




At the oaken, 


THE BELLS. 


Massive, iron-studded portals ! 


Laudo Deum verum ! 


Sack the house of Ood, and scatter 


Plehem voco ! 


Wide the ashes of the dead ! 


Congrego clerum ! 






VOICES. 


LUCIFER. 


Oh, we cannot ! 


Lower ! lower ! 


The Apostles 


Hover downward ! 


And the Martyrs, wrapped in mart- 


Seize the loud, vociferous bells, 


ties, 


and 


Stand as warders at the entrance. 


Clashing, clanging, to the pave- 


Stand as sentinels o'erhead ! 


ment 




Hurl them from their windy tower ! 


THE BELLS. 




Excito lentos ! 


VOICES. 


Dissipo ventos ! 


All thy thunders 


Paco cruentos ! 


Here are harmless ! 




For these hell s have been anointed, 


LUCIFER. 


And baptized with holy water! 


Baffled ! baffled ! 


They defy our utmost power. 


Inefficient, 




Craven spirits ! leave this labor 


THE BELLS. 


Unto Time, the great Destroyer I 


De'f unctos ploro ! 


Come away, ere night is gone I 



532 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



VOICES. 

Onward! onward! 
With the night-wind, 
Over field and farm and forest, 
Lonely homestead, darksome ham- 
let, 
Blighting all we breathe upon ! 
They sweep away. Organ and 
Chant. 



CHOIR. 

Nocte surgentes 
Vigilemus omnes ! 



THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON 
THE RHINE 

A chamber in a tower. Prince 
Henry, sitting alone, ill and 
restless. Midnight. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I cannot sleep ! my fervid brain 
Calls up the vanished Past again, 
And throws its misty splendors 

deep 
Into the pallid realms of sleep ! 
A breath from that far-distant 

shore 
Comes freshening ever more and 

more, 
And wafts o'er intervening seas 
Sweet odors from the Hesperides ! 
A wind, that through the corridor 
Just stirs the curtain, and no more, 
And, touching the seolian strings, 
Faints with the burden that it 

brings! 12 

Come back! ye friendships long 

departed ! 
That like o'erflowing streamlets 

started, 
And now are dwindled, one by one, 
To stony channels in the sun ! 
Come back ! ye friends, whose lives 

are ended, 
Come back, with all that light at- 
tended, 



Which seemed to darken and decay 
When ye arose and went away ! 20 

They come, the shapes of joy and 

woe, 
The airy crowds of long ago, 
The dreams and fancies known of 

yore, 
That have been, and shall be no 

more. 
They change the cloisters of the 

night 
Into a garden of delight ; 
They make the dark and dreary 

hours 
Open and blossom into flowers ! 
I would not sleep ! I love to be 
Again in their fair company ; 30 
But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
They pass and vanish quite away ! 
Alas ! our memories may retrace 
Each circumstance of time and 

place, 
Season and scene come back again, 
And outward things unchanged re- 
main ; 
The rest we cannot reinstate ; 
Ourselves we cannot re-create, 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony ! 40 

Rest ! rest i Oh, give me rest and 

peace ! 
The thought of life that ne'er shall 



Has something in it like despair, 
A weight I am too weak to bear ! 
Sweeter to this afflicted breast 
The thought of never-ending rest ! 
Sweeter the undisturbed and deep 
Tranquillity of endless sleep ! 
A flash of lightning, out of which 
Lucifer appears, in the garb 
of a travelling Physician. 

LUCIFER. 

All hail, Prince Henry ! 

prince henry, starting. 

Who is it speaks? 
Who and what are you ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



533 



LUCIFER. 


Such an unnatural, strange pro- 


One who seeks 


ceeding, 70 


A moment's audience with the 


By showing conclusively and 


Prince. 51 


clearly 




That death is a stupid blunder 


PRINCE HENRY. 


merely, 


When came you in ? 


And not a necessity of our lives. 




My being here is accidental ; 


LUCIFER. 


The storm, that against your case- 


A moment since. 


ment drives, 


1 found your study door unlocked, 


In the little village below waylaid 


And thought you answered when 


me. 


I knocked. 


And there I heard with a secret 

delight, 
Of your maladies physical and 


PRINCE HENRY. 


I did not hear you. 


mental, 




Which neither astonished nor dis- 


LUCIFER. 


mayed me. 


You heard the thunder ; 


And I hastened hither, though late 


It was loud enough to waken the 


in the night, 80 


dead. 


To proffer my aid ! 


And it is not a matter of special 




wonder 


prince henry, ironically. 


That, when God is walking over- 


For this you came ! 


head, 


Ah, how can I ever hope to requite 


You should not hear my feeble 


This honor from one so erudite ? 


tread. 






LUCIFER. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


The honor is mine, or will be when 


What may your wish or purpose 


I have cured your disease. 


be? 60 






PRINCE HENRY. 


LUCIFER. 


But not till then. 


Nothing or everything, as it 




pleases 


LUCIFER. 


Your Highness. You behold in me 


What is your illness ? 


Only a travelling Physician ; 




One of the few who have a mission 


PRINCE HENRY. 


To cure incurable diseases, 


It has no name. 


Or those that are called so. 


A smouldering, dull, perpetual 




flame, 


PRINCE HENRY. 


As in a kiln, burns in my veins, 


Can you bring 


Sending up vapors to the head ; 


The dead to life ? 


My heart has become a dull la- 




goon, 90 


LUCIFER. 


Which a kind of leprosy drinks 


Yes ; very nearly. 


and drains ; 


And, what is a wiser and better 


I am accounted as one who is 


thing, 


dead, 


Can keep the living from ever 


And, indeed, I think that I shall 


needing 


be soon- 



534 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



LUCIFER. 


lucifer, reading. 


And has Gordonius the Divine, 


' Not to be cured, yet not incura- 


In his famous Lily of Medicine,— 


ble! 


I see the book lies open before 


The only remedy that remains 


you, — 


Is the blood that flows from a 


No remedy potent enough to re- 


maiden's veins, 


store you ? 


Who of her own free will shall die, 




And give her life as the price of 


PRINCE HENRY. 


yours! ' 1 20 


None whatever! 






That is the strangest of all cures, 


LUCIFER. 


And one, I think, you will never 


The dead are dead, 


try; 


And their oracles dumb, when 


The prescription you may well 


questioned 


put by, 


Of the new diseases that human 


As something impossible to find 


life xoo 


Before the world itself shall end ! 


Evolves in its progress, rank and 


And yet who knows ? One cannot 


rife. 


say 


Consult the dead upon things that 


That into some maiden's brain 


were, 


that kind 


But the living only on things that 


Of madness will not find its way. 


are. 


Meanwhile permit me to recom- 


Have you done this, by the appli- 


mend, 


ance 


As the matter admits of no delay, 


And aid of doctors ? 


My wonderful Catholicon, 131 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Of very subtile and magical pow- 
ers ! 


Ay, whole schools 




Of doctors, with their learned 


PRINCE HENRY. 


rules ; 


Purge with your nostrums and 


But the case is quite beyond their 


drugs infernal 


science. 


The spouts and gargoyles of these 


Even the doctors of Salem 


towers, 


Send me back word they can discern 


Not me ! My faith is utterly gone 


No cure for a malady like this, no 


In every power but the Power 


Save one which in its nature is 


Supernal ! 


Impossible and cannot be ! 


Pray tell me, of what school are 


LUCIFER. 


you? 


That sounds oracular ! 


LUCIFER. 




Both of the Old and of the New ! 


PRINCE HENRY. 


The school of Hermes Trismegis- 


Unendurable ! 


tus, 




Who uttered his oracles sub- 


LUCIFER. 


lime 140 


What is their remedy ? 


Before the Olympiads, in the dew 




Of the early dusk and dawn of 


PRINCE HENRY. 


time, 


You shall see ; 


The reign of dateless old Hephaes- 


Writ in this scroll is the mystery. , 


tus ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



535 



As northward, from its Nubian 


The perfect flower and efflores- 


springs, 


cence, 


The Nile, forever new and old, 


Of all the knowledge man can ask ! 


Among the living and the dead, 


Hold it up thus against the light ! 


Its mighty, mystic stream has 




rolled ; 


PRINCE HENRY. 


So, starting from its fountain- 


How limpid, pure, and crystalline, 


head 


How quick, and tremulous, and 


Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, 


bright 


From the dead demigods of eld, 150 


The little wavelets dance and 


Through long, unbroken lines of 


shine, 180 


kings 


As were it the Water of Life in 


Its course the sacred art has held, 


sooth ! 


Unchecked, unchanged by man's 




devices. 


LUCIFER, 


This art the Arabian Geber taught, 


It is ! It assuages every pain, 


And in alembics, finely wrought, 


Cures all disease, and gives again 


Distilling herbs and flowers, dis- 


To age the swift delights of youth. 


covered 


Inhale its fragrance 


The secret that so long had hov- 




ered 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Upon the misty verge of Truth, 


It is sweet. 


The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, 


A thousand different odors meet 


Called Alcohol, in the Arab 


And mingle in its rare perfume, 


speech ! 160 


Such as the winds of summer waft 


Like him, this wondrous lore I 


At open windows through a room ! 


teach ! 






LUCIFER. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Will you not taste it? 


What ! an adept ? 






PRINCE HENRY. 


LUCIFER. 


Will one draught 


Nor less, nor more ! 


Suffice ? 


PRINCE HENRY. 


LUCIFER. 


I am a reader of your books, 


If not, you can drink more. 


A lover of that mystic lore ! 




With such a piercing glance it 


PRINCE HENRY. 


looks 


Into this crystal goblet pour 192 


Into great Nature's open eye, 


So much as safely I may drink. 


And sees within it trembling lie 




The portrait of the Deity ! 


lucifer, pouring. 


And yet, alas ! with all my pains, 


Let not the quantity alarm you; 


The secret and the mystery 170 


You may drink all; it will not 


Have baffled and eluded me, 


harm you. 


Unseen the grand result remains ! 






PRINCE HENRY. 


Lucifer, showing a flask. 


I am as one who on the brink 


Behold it here ! this little flask 


Of a dark river stands and sees 


Contains the wonderful quintes- 


The waters flow, the landscape 


sence, 


dim 



536 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Around him waver, wheel, and 

swim, 
And, ere he plunges, stops to 

think 200 

Into what whirlpools he may 

sink ; 
One moment pauses, and no more, 
Then madly plunges from the 

shore ! 
Headlong into the mysteries 
Of life and death I boldly leap, 
Nor fear the fateful current's 

sweep, 

Nor what in ambush lurks below ! 

For death is better than disease ! 

An Angel with an wolian harp 

hovers in the air. 

ANGEL. 

Woe ! woe ! eternal woe ! 

Not only the whispered prayer 210 

Of love, 

But the imprecations of hate, 

Reverberate 

For ever and ever through the air 

Above ! 

This fearful curse 

Shakes the great universe ! 

lucifer, disappearing. 
Drink ! drink ! 
And thy soul shall sink 
Down into the dark abyss, 220 
Into the infinite abyss, 
From which no plummet nor rope 
Ever drew up the silver sand of 
hope ! 

prince henrv, drinking. 
It is like a draught of fire ! 
Through every vein 
I feel again 

The fever of youth, the soft desire ; 
A rapture that is almost pain 
Throbs in my heart and fills my 

brain ! 
O joy ! O joy ! I feel 230 

The band of steel 
That so long and heavily has 

pressed 
Upon my breast 



Uplifted, and the malediction 

Of my affliction 

Is taken from me, and my weary 

breast 
At length finds rest. 

THE ANGEL. 

It is but the rest of the fire, from 
which the air has been taken ! 

It is but the rest of the sand, when 
the hour-glass is not shaken ! 

It is but the rest of the tide be- 
tween the ebb and the 
flow ! 240 

It is but the rest of the wind be- 
tween the flaws that blow ! 

With fiendish laughter, 

Hereafter, 

This false physician 

Will mock thee in thy perdition. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Speak! speak! 

Who says that I am ill ? 

I am not ill ! I am not weak ! 

The trance, the swoon, the dream, 

is o'er ! 249 

I feel the chill of death no more ! 
At length, 

I stand renewed in all my strength ! 
Beneath me I can feel 
The great earth stagger and reel, 
As if the feet of a descending God 
Upon its surface trod, 
And like a pebble it rolled beneath 

his heel! 
This, O brave physician ! this 
Is thy great Palingenesis ! 
Drinks again. 

THE ANGEL. 

Touch the goblet no more ! 2 

It will make thy heart sore 

To its very core ! 

Its perfume is the breath 

Of the Angel of Death, 

And the light that within it lies 

Is the flash of his evil eyes. 

Beware ! Oh, beware ! 

For sickness, sorrow, and care 

All are there ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



537 



PRINCE henry, sinking back. 

thou voice within my breast ! 270 
Why entreat me, why upbraid me, 
When the steadfast tongues of 

truth 
And the flattering hopes of youth 
Have all deceived me and be- 
trayed me ? 
Give me, give me rest, oh rest ! 
Golden visions wave and hover, 
Golden vapors, waters streaming, 
Landscapes moving, changing, 
gleaming ! 

1 am like a happy lover, 279 
Who illumines life with dreaming ! 
Brave physician ! Rare physician ! 
Well hast thou fulfilled thy mis- 
sion! 

His head falls on his book. 

the angel, receding. 
Alas! alas! 

Like a vapor the golden vision 
Shall fade and pass, 
And thou wilt find in thy heart 

again 
Only the blight of pain, 
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! 



COURT- YARD OF THE CASTLE. 

Hubert standing by the gateway. 

HUBERT. 

How sad the grand old castle 
looks ! 289 

O'erhead, the unmolested rooks 

Upon the turret's windy top 

Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ; 

Here in the court-yard springs the 
grass, 

So few are now the feet that pass ; 

The stately peacocks, bolder 
grown, 

Come hopping down the steps of 
stone, 

As if the castle were their own ; 

And I, the poor old seneschal, 

Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet- 
hall. 299 



Alas ! the merry guests no more 
Crowd through the hospitable 

door ; 
No eyes with youth and passion 

shine, 
No cheeks glow redder than the 

wine; 
No song, no laugh, no jovial din 
Of drinking wassail to the pin ; 
But all is silent, sad, and drear, 
And now the only sounds I hear 
Are the hoarse rooks upon the 

walls, 
And horses stamping in their 

stalls ! 

A horn sounds. 
What ho! that merry, sudden 

blast 310 

Reminds me of the days long past ! 
And, as of old resounding, grate 
The heavy hinges of the gate, 
And, clattering loud, with iron 

clank, 
Down goes the sounding bridge of 

plank, 
As if it were in haste to greet 
The pressure of a traveller's feet ! 
Enter Walter the Minnesinger. 

WALTER. 

How now, my friend ! This looks 

quite lonely ! 
No banner flying from the walls, 
No pages and no seneschals, 320 
No warders, and one porter only ! 
Is it you, Hubert ? 

HUBERT. 

Ah ! Master Walter ! 

WALTER. 

Alas ! how forms and faces alter ! 
I did not know you. You look 

older ! 
Your hair has grown much grayer 

and thinner, 
And you stoop a little in the 

shoulder ! 

HUBERT. 

Alack ! I am a poor old sinner. 



138 



CHRISTUSs A MYSTERY 



And, like these towers, begin to 


With all their crosiers and their 


moulder ; 


crooks, 


And you have been absent many a 


And so at last the matter ended. 


year ! 329 






WALTER. 


WALTER. 


How did it end ? 


How is the Prince ? 






HUBERT. 


HUBERT. 


Why, in Saint Rochus 


He is not here ; 


They made him stand, and wait his 


He has been ill: and now has 


doom; 


fled. 


And, as if he were condemned to 




the tomb, 


WALTER. 


Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. 


Speak it out frankly: say he's 


First, the Mass for the Dead they 


dead ! 


chanted, 


Is it not so? 


Then three times laid upon his 




head 


HUBERT. 


A shovelful of churchyard clay, 


No ; if you please, 


Saying to him, as he stood un- 


A strange, mysterious disease 


daunted, 360 


Fell on him with a sudden blight. 


'This is a sign that thou art 


Whole hours together he would 


dead, 


stand 


So in thy heart be penitent ! ' 


Upon the terrace, in a dream, 


And forth from the chapel door he 


Besting his head upon his hand, 


went 


Best pleased when he was most 


Into disgrace and banishment, 


alone, 


Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, 


Like Saint John Nepomuck in 


And bearing a wallet, and a bell, 


stone, 340 


Whose sound should be a perpet- 


Looking down into a stream. 


ual knell 


In the Bound Tower, night after 


To keep all travellers away. 


night, 




He sat and bleared his eyes with 


WALTER. 


books ; 


Oh, horrible fate! Outcast, re- 


Until one morning we fo\md him 


jected, 369 


there 


As one with pestilence infected ! 


Stretched on the floor, as if in a 




swoon 


HUBERT. 


He had fallen from his chair. 


Then was the family tomb un- 


We hardly recognized his sweet 


sealed, 


looks ! 


And broken helmet, sword, and 




shield, 


WALTER. 


Buried together, in common wreck, 


Poor Prince ! 


As is the custom, when the last 




Of any princely house has passed. 


HUBERT. 


And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, 


I think he might have mended ; 


A herald shouted down the stair 


And he did mend ; but very soon 


The words of warning and de. 


The priests came flocking in, like 


spair, — 


rooks, 350 


' Hoheneck ! Hoheneck ! • 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



539 



WALTER. 

Still in my soul that cry goes 

on, — 380 

Forever gone ! forever gone ! 
Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, 
Like a black shadow, would fall 

across 
The hearts of all, if he should 

die! 
His gracious presence upon earth 
Was as a fire upon a hearth ; 
As pleasant songs, at morning 

sung, 
The words that dropped from his 

sweet tongue 
Strengthened our hearts j or heard 

at night, 
Made all our slumbers soft and 

light. 390 

Where is he ? 

HUBERT. 

In the Odenwald. 
Some of his tenants, unappalled 
By fear of death, or priestly 

word, — 
A holy family, that make 
Each meal a Supper of the Lord, — 
Have him beneath their watch and 

ward, 
For love of him, and Jesus' sake ! 
Pray you come in. For why 

should I 
With out-door hospitality 399 

My prince's friend thus entertain ? 

WALTER. 

I would a moment here remain. 
But you, good Hubert, go before, 
Fill me a goblet of May-drink, 
As aromatic as the May 
From which it steals the breath 

away, 
And which he loved so well of 

yore; 
It is of him that I would think. 
You shall attend me, when I call, 
In the ancestral banquet-hall. 409 
Unseen companions, guests of 

air, 
You cannot wait on, will be there ; 



They taste not food, they drink not 
wine, 

But their soft eyes look into mine, 

And their lips speak to me, and 
all 

The vast and shadowy banquet- 
hall 

Is full of looks and words di- 



Leaning over the %>ara%tet. 
The day is done ; and slowly from 

the scene 
The stooping sun up-gathers his 

spent shafts, 
And puts them back into his golden 

quiver ! 
Below me in the valley, deep and 

green 420 

As goblets are, from which in 

thirsty draughts 
We drink its wine, the swift and 

mantling river 
Flows on triumphant through 

these lovely regions, 
Etched with the shadows of its 

sombre margent, 
And soft, reflected clouds of gold 

and argent ! 
Yes, there it flows, forever, broad 

and still 
As when the vanguard of the Ro- 
man legions 
First saw it from the top of yonder 

hill! 
How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields 

of wheat, 
Vineyard, and town, and tower 

with fluttering flag, 430 

The consecrated chapel on the 

crag, 
And the white hamlet gathered 

round its base, 
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's 

feet, 
And looking up at his beloved 

face! 
O friend ! O best of friends ! Thy 

absence more 
Than the impending night darkens 

the landscape o'er ! 



540 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



II 

A FARM IN THE ODENWALD 

A garden ; morning ; Prince 
Henry seated, with a book, 
Elsie at a distance gathering 
flowers. 

prince henry, reading. 
One morning, all alone, 
Out of his convent of gray stone, 
Into the forest older, darker, 

grayer, 
His lips moving as if in prayer, 
His head sunken upon his breast 
As in a dream of rest, 
Walked the Monk Felix. All about 
The broad, sweet sunshine lay 

without, 
Filling the summer air ; 
And within the woodlands as he 

trod, 10 

The dusk was like the Truce of 

God 
With worldly woe and care ; 
Under him lay the golden moss ; 
And above him the boughs of 

hoary trees 
Waved, and made the sign of the 

cross, 
And whispered their Benedici- 

test 
And from the ground 
Rose an odor sweet and fragrant 
Of the wild - flowers and the va- 
grant 
Vines that wandered, 20 

Seeking the sunshine, round and 

round. 

These he heeded not, but pon- 
dered 
On the volume in his hand, 
Wherein amazed he read : 
' A thousand years in thy sight 
Are but as yesterday when it is 

past, 
And as a watch in the nigbt ! ' 
And with his eyes downcast 
In humility he said : 



' I believe, O Lord, 30 

What is written in thy Word, 
But alas ! I do not understand ! ' 

And lo ! he heard 

The sudden singing of a bird, 

A snow-white bird, that from a 

cloud 
Dropped down, 

And among the branches brown 
Sat singing, 

So sweet, and clear, and loud, 
It seemed a thousand harp-strings 

ringing. 40 

And the Monk Felix closed his 

book, 
And long, long, 
With rapturous look, 
He listened to the song, 
And hardly breathed or stirred, 
Until he saw, as in a vision, 
The land Elysian, 
And in the heavenly city heard 
Angelic feet 
Fall on the golden flagging of the 

street. 50 

And he would fain 
Have caught the wondrous bird, 
But strove in vain ; 
For it flew away, away, 
Far over hill and dell, 
And instead of its sweet singing 
He heard the convent bell 
Suddenly in the silence ringing 
For the service of noonday. 
And he retraced 60 

His pathway homeward sadly and 



In the convent there was a change ! 
He looked for each well-known 

face, 
But the faces were new and 

strange ; 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chanted in the choir ; 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 
Of cold, gray stone, 
The same cloisters and belfry and 

spire. 70 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



541 



A stranger and alone 

Among that brotherhood 

The Monk Felix stood. 

' Forty years,' said a Friar, 

' Have I been Prior 

Of this convent in the wood, 

But for that space 

Never have I beheld thy face ! ' 

The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 
And he answered, with submissive 

tone, So 

'This morning, after the hour of 

Prime, 
I left my cell, 

And wandered forth alone, 
Listening all the time 
To the melodious singing 
Of a beautiful white bird, 
Until I heard 

The bells of the convent ringing 
Noon from their noisy towers. 
It was as if I dreamed ; 90 

For what to me had seemed 
Moments only, had been hours! ' 

■ Years ! ' said a voice close by. 
It was an aged monk who spoke, 
From a bench of oak 
Fastened against the wall ; — 
He was the oldest monk of all. 
For a whole century 
Had he been there, 
Serving Ood in prayer, 100 

The meekest and humblest of his 

creatures. 
He remembered well the features 
Of Felix, and he said, 
Speaking distinct and slow: 
1 One hundred years ago, 
When I was a novice in this place, 
There was here a monk, full of 

God's grace, 
Who bore the name 
Of Felix, and this man must be 

the same.' 

And straightway no 

They brought forth to the light of 

day 
A volume old and brown, 



A huge tome, bound 
In brass and wild-boar's hide, 
Wherein were written down 
The names of all who had died 
In the convent, since it was edi- 
fied. 
And there they found, 
Just as the old monk said, 
That on a certain day and date, 
One hundred years before, 121 
Had gone forth from the convent 

gate 
The Monk Felix, and never more 
Had entered that sacred door. 
He had been counted among the 

dead ! 
And they knew, at last, 
That, such had been the power 
Of that celestial and immortal 

song, 
A hundred years had passed, 
And had not seemed so long 130 
As a single hour ! 

elsie comes in with flowers. 

ELSIE. 

Here are flowers for you, 
But they are not all for you. 
Some of them are for the Virgin 
And for Saint Cecilia. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

As thou standest there, 
Thou seemest to me like the ange* 
That brought the immortal roses 
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. 

ELSIE. 

But these will fade. 140 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Themselves will fade, 

But not their memory, 

And memory has the power 

To re-create them from the dust. 

They remind me, too, 

Of martyred Dorothea, 

Who from celestial gardens sent 

Flowers as her witnesses 

To him who scoffed and doubtedo 



542 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ELSIE. 


As she lay upon her bed, 


Do you know the story 150 


She heard a voice 


Of Christ and the Sultan's daugh- 


Call to her from the garden, 


ter? 


And, looking forth from her Win- 


That is the prettiest legend of them 


dow, 


all. 


She saw a beautiful youth 




Standing among the flowers. 190 


PRINCE HENRY. 


It was the Lord Jesus ; 


Then tell it to me. 


And she went down to Him, 


But first come hither. 


And opened the door for Him; 


Lay the flowers down beside me, 


And He said to her, ' maiden ! 


And put both thy hands in mine. 


Thou hast thought of me with love, 


Now tell me the story. 


And for thy sake 




Out of my Father's kingdom 


ELSIE. 


Have I come hither : 


Early in the morning 


I am the Master of the Flowers. 


The Sultan's daughter 


My garden is in Paradise, 200 


Walked in her father's garden, 160 


And if thou wilt go with me, 


Gathering the bright flowers, 


Thy bridal garland 


All full of dew. 


Shall be of bright red flowers.' 




And then He took from his finger 


PRINCE HENRY. 


A golden ring, 


Just as thou hast been doing 


And asked the Sultan's daughter 


This morning, dearest Elsie. 


If she would be his bride. 




And when she answered Him with 


ELSIE. 


love, 


And as she gathered them 


His wounds began to bleed, 


She wondered more and more 


And she said to Him, 210 


Who was the Master of the Flow- 


' Love ! how red thy heart is, 


ers, 


And thy hands are full of roses.' 


And made them grow 


' For thy sake,' answered He, 


Out of the cold, dark earth. 


' For thy sake is my heart so red, 


* In my heart,' she said, 170 


For thee I bring these roses ; 


* I love him ; and for him 


I gathered them at the cross 


Would leave my father's palace, 


Whereon I died for thee ! 


To labor in his garden.' 


Come, for my Father calls. 




Thou art my elected bride ! » 


PRINCE HENRY. 


And the Sultan's daughter 220 


Dear, innocent child ! 


Followed Him to his Father's gar- 


How sweetly thou recallest 


den. 


The long-forgotten legend, 




That in my early childhood 


PRINCE HENRY. 


My mother told me ! 


Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie ? 


Upon my brain 




It reappears once more, 180 


ELSIE. 


As a birth-mark on the forehead 


Yes, very gladly. 


When a hand suddenly 




Is laid upon it, and removed 1 


PRINCE HENRY. 




Then the Celestial Bridegroom 


ELSIE. 


Will come for thee also. 


^nd at midnight, 


Upon thy forehead He will place, 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



543 



Not his crown of thorns, 

But a crown of roses. 

In thy bridal chamber, I 

Like Saint Cecilia, 230 

Thou shalt hear sweet music, 

And breathe the fragrance 

Of flowers immortal ! 

(Jo now and place these flowers 

Before her picture. 

A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. 

Twilight. Ursula spinning. 
Gottlieb asleep in his chair. 

URSULA. 

Darker and darker! Hardly a 
glimmer 

Of light comes in at the window- 
pane ; 

Or is it my eyes are growing dim- 
mer? 

I cannot disentangle this skein, 

Nor wind it rightly upon the 
reel. 240 

Elsie ! 

Gottlieb, starting. 
The stopping of thy wheel 

Has awakened me out of a plea- 
sant dream. 

I thought I was sitting beside a 
stream, 

And heard the grinding of a mill, 

When suddenly the wheels stood 
still, 

And a voice cried 'Elsie' in my 
ear! 

It startled me, it seemed so near. 

URSULA. 

I was calling her : I want a light. 
I cannot see to spin my flax. 
Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou 
hear ? 250 

elsie, within. 
In a moment ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where are Bertha and Max ? 



URSULA. 

They are sitting with Elsie at the 

door. 
She is telling them stories of the 

wood, 
And the Wolf, and little Red Rid- 

inghood. 

GOTTLIEB. 

And where is the Prince ? 

URSULA. 

In his room overhead ; 
I heard him walking across the 

floor, 
As he always does, with a heavy 

tread. 

Elsie comes in with a lamp. Max 
and Bertha follow her ; and 
they all sing the Evening Song 
on the lighting of the lamps. 



EVENING SONG. 

O gladsome light 

Of the Father Immortal, 

And of the celestial 260 

Sacred and blessed 

Jesus, our Saviour ! 

Now to the sunset 
Again hast thou brought us ; 
And, seeing the evening 
Twilight, we bless thee, 
Praise thee, adore thee ! 

Father omnipotent ! 

Son, the Life-giver ! 

Spirit, the Comforter ! 27c 

Worthy at all times 

Of worship and wonder ! 

prince henry, at the door. 
Amen ! 

URSULA. 

Who was it said Amen ? 

ELSIE. 

It was the Prince : he stood at the 
door, 



544 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And listened a moment, as we 

chanted 
The evening song. He is gone 

again. 
I have often seen him there before. 

URSULA. 

Poor Prince ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I thought the house was haunted ! 

Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild 

And patient as the gentlest 

child ! 280 

MAX. 

I love him because he is so good, 
And makes me such fine bows and 

arrows, 
To shoot at the robins and the 

sparrows, 
And the red squirrels in the wood ! 

BERTHA. 

I love him, too ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, yes ! we all 
Love him, from the bottom of our 

hearts ; 
He gave us the farm, the house, 

and the grange, 
He gave us the horses and the 

carts, 
And the great oxen in the stall, 
The vineyard, and the forest 

range ! 290 

We have nothing to give him but 

our love ! 

BERTHA. 

Did he give us the beautiful stork 

above 
On the chimney-top, with its large, 

round nest ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

No, not the stork; by God in 

heaven, 
As a blessing, the dear white stork 

was given, 



But the Prince has given us all the 

rest. 
God bless him, and make him well 

again. 

ELSIE. 

Would I could do something for 

his sake, 
Something to cure his sorrow an£ 

pain ! 299 

GOTTLIEB. 

That no one can ; neither thou nor I, 
Nor any one else. 

ELSIE. 

And must he die ? 

URSULA. 

Yes ; if the dear God does not take 
Pity upon him, in his distress, 
And work a miracle ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Or unless 
Some maiden, of her own accord, 
Offers her life for that of her lord, 
And is willing to die in his stead. 

ELSIE. 

I will f 

URSULA. 

Prithee, thou foolish child, be still ! 

Thou shouldst not say what thou 

dost not mean ! 309 

ELSIE. 

I mean it truly ! 

MAX. 

O father ! this morning, 
Down by the mill, in the ravine, 
Hans killed a wolf, the very same 
That in the night to the sheepfold 

came, 
And ate up my lamb, that was left 

outside. 

GOTTLIEB. 

I am glad he is dead. It will be a 
warning 



1 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



545 



To the wolves in the forest, far 


That Elsie of ours. She looks so 


and wide. 


old, 




And thoughts and fancies weird 


MAX. 


and wild 


And I am going to have his hide ! 


Seem of late to have taken hold 




Of her heart, that was once so do- 


BERTHA. 


cile and mild ! 


I wonder if this is the wolf that ate 




Little Eed Eidinghood ! 


GOTTLIEB. 




She is like all girls. 


URSULA. 




Oh, no ! 


URSULA. 


That wolf was killed a long while 


Ah no, forsooth ! 


ago. 320 


Unlike all I have ever seen. 340 


Come, children, it is growing late. 


For she has visions and strange 




dreams, 


MAX. 


And in all her words and ways, she 


Ah, how I wish I were a man, 


seems 


As stout as Hans is, and as strong ! 


Much older than she is in truth. 


I would do nothing else, the whole 


Who would think her but fifteen? 


day long, 


And there has been of late such a 


But just kill wolves. 


change ! 




My heart is heavy with fear and 


GOTTLIEB. 


doubt 


Then go to hed, 


That she may not live till the year 


And grow as fast as a little boy 


is out. 


can. 


She is so strange, — so strange,— 


Bertha is half asleep already. 


so strange ! 


See how she nods her heavy head, 




And her sleepy feet are so un- 


GOTTLIEB. 


steady 


I am not troubled with any such 


She will hardly be able to creep 


fear ; 


upstairs. 330 


She will live and thrive for many 




a year. 350 


URSULA. 




Good night, my children. Here 's 


ELSIE'S CHAMBER. 


the light. 
And do not forget to say your 


Night. Elsie praying. 


prayers 


ELSIE. 


Before you sleep. 


My Eedeemer and my Lord, 


GOTTLIEB. 


I beseech thee, I entreat thee, 


Good night ! 


Guide me in each act and word, 


That hereafter I may meet thee, 


MAX and BERTHA. 


Watching, waiting, hoping, yearn- 


Good night ! 


ing, 
With my lamp well trimmed and 


They go out with Elsie. 


burning ! 


Ursula, spinning. 


Interceding 


She is a strange and wayward 


With these bleeding 


child, 


Wounds upon thy hands ana side, 



546 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



For all who have lived and erred, 


In thinking our dear Prince must 


Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, 


die; 


Scourged, and mocked, and cruci- 


I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. 


fied, 362 




And in the grave hast thou heen 


GOTTLIEB. 


buried ! 


What wouldst thou? In the 




Power Divine 


If my feeble prayer can reach thee, 


His healing lies, not in our own ; 


my Saviour, I beseech thee, 


It is in the hand of God alone. 


Even as thou hast died for me, 




More sincerely 


ELSIE. 


Let me follow where thou leadest, 


Nay, He has put it into mine, 390 


Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, 


And into my heart ! 


Die, if dying I may give 370 




Life to one who asks to live, 


GOTTLIEB. 


And more nearly, 


Thy words are wild I 


Dying thus, resemble thee ! 






URSULA. 


THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB 


What dost thou mean? my child! 


AND URSULA. 


my child ! 


Midnight. Elsie standing by 


ELSIE. 


their bedside, weeping. 


That for our dear Prince Henry's 




sake 


GOTTLIEB. 


I will myself the offering make, 


The wind is roaring ; the rushing 


And give my life to purchase his. 


fain 




Is loud upon roof and window- 


URSULA. 


pane, 


Am I still dreaming, or awake? 


As if the Wild Huntsman of Eo- 


Thou speakest carelessly of death, 


denstein, 


And yet thou knowest not what 


Boding evil to me and mine, 


it is. 


"Were abroad to - night with his 




ghostly train ! 


ELSIE. 


In the brief lulls of the tempest 


'T is the cessation of our breath. 


wild, 


Silent and motionless we lie ; 400 


The dogs howl in the yard; and 


And no one knoweth more than 


hark ! 380 


this. 


Some one is sobbing in the dark, 


I saw our little Gertrude die ; 


Here in the chamber ! 


She left off breathing, and no 




more 


ELSIE. 


I smoothed the pillow beneath her 


It is I. 


head. 




She was more beautiful than be- 


URSULA. 


fore. 


Elsie! what ails thee, my poor 


Like violets faded were her eyes ; 


child? 


By this we knew that she was 




dead. 


ELSIE. 


Through the open window looked 


I am disturbed and much dis- 


the skies 


tressed, 


Into the chamber where she lay, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



547 



And the wind was like the sound 

of wings, 410 

As if angels came to bear her 

away. 
Ah! when I saw and felt these 

things, 
I found it difficult to stay; 
I longed to die, as she had died, 
And go forth with her, side by side. 
The Saints are dead, the Martyrs 

dead, 
And Mary, and our Lord ; and I 
Would follow in humility 
The way by them illumined ! 

URSULA. 

My child ! my child ! thou must not 
die ! 420 

ELSIE. 

Why should I live? Do I not 

know 
The life of woman is full of woe? 
Toiling on and on and on, 
With breaking heart, and tearful 

eyes, 
And silent lips, and in the soul 
The secret longings that arise, 
Which this world never satisfies ! 
Some more, some less, but of the 

whole 
Not one quite happy, no, not one ! 

URSULA. 

It is the malediction of Eve ! 430 

ELSIE. 

In place of it, let me receive 
The benediction of Mary, then. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! 
Most wretched am I among men ! 

URSULA. 

Alas ! that I should live to see 
Thy death, beloved, and to stand 
Above thy grave! Ah, woe the 
day! 

ELSIE. 

Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie 



Beneath the flowers of another 
land, 

For at Salerno, far away 440 

Over the mountains, over the sea, 

It is appointed me to die ! 

And it will seem no more to thee 

Than if at the village on market- 
day 

I should a little longer stay 

Than I am wont. 

URSULA. 

Even as thou sayest! 
And how my heart beats, when 

thou stay est ! 
I cannot rest until my sight 
Is satisfied with seeing thee. 44Q 
What then, if thou wert dead ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah me! 

Of our old eyes thou art the light ! 
The joy of our old hearts art thou! 
And wilt thou die ? 

URSULA. 

Not now ! not now ! 

ELSIE. 

Christ died for me, and shall not I 
Be willing for my Prince to die ? 
You both are silent; you cannot 

speak. 
This said I at our Saviour's feast 
After confession, to the priest, 
And even he made no reply. 459 
Does he not warn us all to seek 
The happier, better land on high, 
Where flowers immortal never 

wither ; 
And could he forbid me to go 

thither ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

In God's own time, my heart's 
delight ! 

When He shall call thee, not be- 
fore ! 

ELSIE. 

I heard Him call. When Christ 
ascended 



548 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Triumphantly, from star to star, 
He left the gates of heaven ajar. 
I had a vision in the night, 469 
And saw Him standing at the door 
Of his Father's mansion, vast and 

splendid, 
And beckoning to me from afar. 
I cannot stay ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She speaks almost 
As if it were the Holy Ghost 
Spake through her lips, and in her 

stead ! 
"What if this were of God? 



URSULA. 



Ah, then 



Gainsay it dare we not. 



GOTTLIEB. 

Amen ! 

Elsie! the words that thou hast 
said 

Are strange and new for us to 
hear, 

And fill our hearts with doubt and 
fear. 480 

"Whether it he a dark temptation 

Of the Evil One, or God's inspira- 
tion, 

We in our blindness cannot say. 

We must think upon it, and pray ; 

For evil and good it both re- 
sembles. 

If it be of God, his will be done ! 

May He guard us from the Evil 
One! 

How hot thy hand is ! how it 
trembles ! 

Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. 

URSULA. 

Kiss me. Good night ; and do not 
weep ! 490 

elsie goes out. 

Ah, what an awful thing is this ! 
I almost shuddered at her kiss, 
As if a ghost had touched my 
cheek, 



I am so childish and so weak ! 
As soon as I see the earliest gray 
Of morning glimmer in the east, 
I will go over to the priest, 
And hear what the good man has 
to say ! 

A VILLAGE CHURCH. 

A woman kneeling at the confes' 
sional. 

THE PARISH FRJEST Jromwithin. 

G'o, sin no more! Thy penance 

o'er, 
A new and better life begin ! 500 
God maketh thee forever free . 
From the dominion of thy sin ! 
Go, sin no more! He will re- 
store 
The peace that filled thy heart be- 

fore, 
And pardon thine iniquity ! 
The woman goes out. The Priest 
comes forth, and walks slowly up 
and down the church. 

blessed Lord! how much I 

need 
Thy light to guide me on my 

way! 
So many hands, that, without heed, 
Still touch thy wounds, and make 

them bleed ! 509 

So many feet, that, day by day, 
Still wander from thy fold astray! 
Unless thou fill me with thy light, 

1 cannot lead thy flock aright; 
Nor, without thy support, can bear 
The burden of so great a care, 
But am myself a castaway ! 

A pause. 
The day is drawing to its close ; 
And what good deeds, since first 

it rose, 
Have I presented, Lord, to thee, 
As offerings of my ministry? 520 
What wrong repressed, what right 

maintained, 
What struggle passed, what vic- 
tory gained, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



549 



What good attempted and at- 
tained? 
Feeble, at best, is my endeavor ! 
I see, but cannot reach, the height 
That lies forever in the light, 
And yet forever and forever, 
When seeming just within my 

grasp, 
I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 529 
And sink discouraged into night! 
For thine own purpose, thou hast 

sent 
The strife and the discouragement! 

A pause. 
Why stayest thou, Prince of Ho- 

heneck ? 
Why keep me pacing to and fro 
Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, 
Counting my footsteps as I go, 
And marking with each step a 

tomb ? 
Why should the world for thee 

make room, 538 

And wait thy leisure and thy beck ? 
Thou comest in the hope to hear 
Some word of comfort and of 

cheer. 
What can I say ? I cannot give 
The counsel to do this and live ; 
But rather, firmly to deny 
The tempter, though his power be 

strong, 
And, inaccessible to wrong, 
Still like a martyr live and die ! 

A pause. 
The evening air grows dusk and 

brown ; 
I must go forth into the town, 549 
To visit beds of pain and death, 
Of restless limbs, and quivering 

breath, 
And sorrowing hearts, and patient 

eyes 
That see, through tears, the sun 

go down, 
But never more shall see it rise. 
The poor in body and estate, 
The sick and the disconsolate, 
Must not on man's convenience 

wait. 

Goes out 



Enter Lucifer, as a Priest. 

lucifee, with a genuflexion^, 
mocking. 

This is the Black Pater-noster. 

God was my foster, 

He fostered me 560 

Under the book of the Palm-tree ! 

St. Michael was my dame. 

He was born at Bethlehem, 

He was made of flesh and blood. 

God send me my right food, 

My right food, and shelter too, 

That I may to yon kirk go, 

To read upon yon sweet book 

Which the mighty God of heaven 
shook. 

Open, open, hell's gates ! 570 

Shut, shut, heaven's gates ! 

All the devils in the air 

The stronger be, that hear the 
Black Prayer ! 
Looking round the church. 

What a darksome and dismal 
place ! 

I wonder that any man has the 
face 

To call such a hole the House of 
the Lord, 

And the Gate of Heaven, — yet 
such is the word. 

Ceiling, and walls, and windows 
old, 

Covered with cobwebs, blackened 
with mould ; 

Dust on the pulpit, dust on the 
stairs, 580 

Dust on the benches, and stalls, 
and chairs ! 

The pulpit, from which such pon- 
derous sermons 

Have fallen down on the brains of 
the Germans, 

With about as much real edifica- 
tion 

As if a great Bible, bound in lead, 

Had fallen, and struck them on 
the head ; 

And I ought to remember that sen- 
sation ! 

Here stands the holy-water stoup : 



55° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Holy -water it may be to many, 

But to me, the veriest Liquor 
Gehennse ! 590 

It smells like a filthy fast-day 
soup ! 

Near it stands the box for the 
poor, 

With its iron padlock, safe and 
sure. 

I and the priest of the parish know 

Whither all these charities go ; 

Therefore, to keep up the institu- 
tion, 

I will add my little contribution ! 
He puts in money. 

Underneath this mouldering tomb, 

With "statue of stone, and scutch- 
eon of brass, 

Slumbers a great lord of the vil- 
lage. 600 

All his life was riot and pillage, 

But at length to escape the threat- 
ened doom 

Of the everlasting penal fire, 

He died in the dress of a mendi- 
cant friar, 

And bartered his wealth for a 
daily mass. 

But all that afterwards came to 
pass, 

And whether he finds it dull or 
pleasant, 

Is kept a secret for the present, 

At his own particular desire. 609 

And here, in a corner of the wall, 
Shadowy, silent, apart from all, 
With its awful portal open wide, 
And its latticed windows on either 

side, 
And its step well worn by the 

bended knees 
Of one or two pious centuries, 
Stands the village confessional! 
Within it, as an honored guest, 
I will sit down awhile and rest! 
Seats himself in the confessional. 
Here sits the priest ; and faint and 

low, 
Like the sighing of an evening 

breeze, 620 



Comes through these painted lat» 
tices 

The ceaseless sound of human 
woe; 

Here, while her bosom aches and 
throbs 

With deep and agonizing sobs, 

That half are passion, half contri- 
tion, 

The luckless daughter of perdi- 
tion 

Slowly confesses her secret 
shame ! 

The time, the place, the lover's 
name ! 

Here the grim murderer, with a 
groan, 

From his bruised conscience rolls 
the stone, 630 

Thinking that thus he can atone 

For ravages of sword and flame ! 

Indeed, I marvel, and marvel 

greatly, 
How a priest can sit here so se- 
dately, 
Heading, the whole year out and 

in, 
Naught but the catalogue of sin, 
And still keep any faith whatever 
In human virtue ! Never ! never ! 

I cannot repeat a thousandth 

part 
Of the horrors and crimes and sins 

and woes 640 

That arise, when with palpitating 

throes 
The graveyard in the human heart 
Gives up its dead, at the voice of 

the priest, 
As if he were an archangel, at 

least. 
It makes a peculiar atmosphere, 
This odor of earthly passions and 

crimes, 
Such as I like to breathe, at times, 
And such as often brings me here 
In the hottest and most pestilen- 
tial season. 649 
To-day, I come for another reason; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



551 



To foster and ripen an evilthought 

In a heart that is almost to mad- 
ness wrought, 

And to make a murderer out of a 
prince, 

A sleight of hand I learned long 
since ! 

He comes. In the twilight he will 
not see 

The difference between his priest 
and me ! 

In the same net was the mother 
caught ! 

prince henry, entering and 

kneeling at the confessional. 
Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, 
I come to crave, O Father holy, 
Thy benediction on my head. 660 

LUCIFER. 

The benediction shall be said 
After confession, not before ! . 
'T is a God-speed to the parting 

guest, 
"Who stands already at the door, 
Sandalled with holiness, and 

dressed 
In garments pure from earthly 

stain. 
Meanwhile, hast thou searched 

well thy breast? 
Does the same madness fill thy 

brain ? 
Or have thy passion and unrest 669 
Vanished forever from thy mind? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

By the same madness still made 
blind, 

By the same passion still pos- 
sessed, 

I come again to the house of 
prayer, 

A man afflicted and distressed ! 

As in a cloudy atmosphere, 

Through unseen sluices of the 
air, 

A sudden and impetuous wind 

Strikes the great forest white with 
fear, 



And every branch, and bough, and 

spray 
Points all its quivering leaves one 

way, 680 

And meadows of grass, and fields 

of grain, 
And the clouds above, and the 

slanting rain, 
And smoke from chimneys of the 

town, 
Yield themselves to it, and bow 

down, 
So does this dreadful purpose 

press 
Onward, with irresistible stress, 
And all my thoughts and faculties, 
Struck level by the strength of 

this, 
From their true inclination turn, 
And all stream forward to Sa- 

lern ! 690 

LUCIFER. 

Alas ! we are but eddies of dust, 
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled 
Along the highway of the world 
A moment only, then to fall 
Back to a common level all, 
At the subsiding of the gust \ 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O holy Father ! pardon in me 
The oscillation of a mind 
Unsteadfast, and that cannot 

find 699 

Its centre of rest and harmony ! 
For evermore before mine eyes 
This ghastly phantom flits and 

flies, 
And as a madman through a 

crowd, 
With frantic gestures and wild 

cries, 
It hurries onward, and aloud 
Repeats its awful prophecies ! 
Weakness is wretchedness ! To 

be strong 
Is to be happy ! I am weak, 
And cannot find the good I 

seek, 70Q 

Because I feel and fear the wrong i 



55 2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



LUCIFER. 

Be not alarmed ! The Church is 
kind, 

And in her mercy and her meek- 
ness 

She meets half-way her children's 
weakness, 

Writes their transgressions in the 
dust! 

Though in the Decalogue we find 

The mandate written, ' Thou shalt 
not kill ! ' 

Yet there are cases when we must. 

In war, for instance, or from 
scathe 

To guard and keep the one true 
Faith, 

We must look at the Decalogue in 
the light 720 

Of an ancient statute, that was 
meant 

For a mild and general application, 

To be understood with the reser- 
vation 

That in certain instances the Eight 

Must yield to the Expedient! 

Thou art a Prince. If thou 
shouldst die, 

What hearts and hopes would 
prostrate lie ! 

What noble deeds, what fair re- 
nown, 

Into the grave with thee go 
down ! 729 

What acts of valor and courtesy 

Remain undone, and die with 
thee! 

Thou art the last of all thy race ! 

With thee a noble name expires, 

And vanishes from the earth's face 

The glorious memory of thy sires ! 

She is a peasant. In her veins 

Flows common and plebeian blood ; 

It is such as daily and hourly 
stains 

The dust and the turf of battle 
plains, 

By vassals shed, in a crimson 
flood, 740 

Without reserve, and without re- 
ward, 



At the slightest summons of their 
lord! 

But thine is precious ; the fore-ap- 
pointed 

Blood of kings, of God's anoint- 
ed! 

Moreover, what has the world in 
store 

For one like her, but tears and 
toil? 

Daughter of sorrow, serf of the 
soil, 

A peasant's child and a peasant's 
wife, 

And her soul within her sick and 
sore 

With the roughness and barren- 
ness of life ! 750 

I marvel not at the heart's recoil 

From a fate like this, in one so 
tender, 

Nor at its eagerness to surrender 

All the wretchedness, want, and 
woe 

That await it in this world below, 

For the unutterable splendor 

Of the world of rest beyond the 
skies. 

So the Church sanctions the sacri- 
fice: 

Therefore inhale this healing 
balm, 

And breathe this fresh life into 
thine ; 760 

Accept the comfort and the calm 

She offers, as a gift divine ; 

Let her fall down and anoint thy 
feet 

With the ointment costly and most 
sweet 

Of her young blood, and thou shalt 
live. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And will the righteous Heaven for= 
give? 

No action, whether foul or fair, 

Is ever done, but it leaves some- 
where 

A record, written by fingers 
ghostly, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



553 



As a blessing or a curse, and 
mostly 770 

In the greater weakness or greater 
strength 

Of the acts which follow it, till at 
length 

The wrongs of ages are redressed, 

And the justice of God made mani- 
fest! 

LUCIFER. 

In ancient records it is stated 
That, whenever an evil deed is 

done, 
Another devil is created 
To scourge and torment the offend- 
ing one ! 
But evil is only good perverted, 
And Lucifer, the bearer of Light, 
But an angel fallen and deserted, 
Thrust from his Father's house 
with a curse 782 

Into the black and endless night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If justice rules the universe, 
From the good actions of good men 
Angels of light should be begotten, 
And thus the balance restored 
again. 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ; if the world were not so rot- 
ten, 
And so given over to the Devil ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But this deed, is it good or evil ? 
Have I thine absolution free 791 
To do it, and without restriction ? 

LUCIFER. 

Ay ; and from whatsoever sin 
Lieth around it and within, 
From all crimes in which it may 

involve thee, 
I now release thee and absolve 

thee! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Give me thy holy benediction. 



lucifer, stretching forth his 
hand and muttering. 
Maledictione perpetua 
Maledicat vos 
Pater eternus ! 800 

the angel, with the molian harp. 

Take heed ! take heed ! 

Noble art thou in thy birth, 

By the good and the great of earth 

Hast thou been taught ! 

Be noble in every thought 

And in every deed ! 

Let not the illusion of thy senses 

Betray thee to deadly offences. 

Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! 

The right only shall endure, 810 

All things else are but false pre- 
tences. 

I entreat thee, I implore, 

Listen no more 

To the suggestions of an evil spirit, 

That even now is there, 

Making the foul seem fair, 

And selfishness itself a virtue and 
a merit ! 

A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. 
GOTTLIEB. 

It is decided ! For many days, 
And nights as many, we have had 
A nameless terror in our breast, 
Making us timid, and afraid 821 
Of God, and his mysterious ways ! 
We have been sorrowful and sad ; 
Much have we suffered, much have 

prayed 
That He would lead us as is best, 
And show us what his will re- 
quired. 
It is decided ; and we give 
Our child, O Prince, that you may 
live ! 

URSULA. 

It is of God. He has inspired 
This purpose in her ; and through 
pain, 830 

Out of a world of sin and woe, 
He takes her to Himself again. 



554 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



The mother's heart resists no 

longer ; 
With the Angel of the Lord in vain 
It wrestled, for he was the 

stronger. 

GOTTLIEB. 

As Abraham offered long ago 
His son unto the Lord, and even 
The Everlasting Father in heaven 
Gave his, as a lamb unto the 

slaughter, 
So do I offer up my daughter ! 840 
Ursula hides her face. 

ELSIE. 

My life is little, 
Only a cup of water, 
But pure and limpid. 
Take it, O my Prince ! 
Let it refresh you, 
Let it restore you. 
It is given willingly, 
It is given freely ; 
May God bless the gift ! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

And the giver ! 



850 



GOTTLIEB. 



Amen! 



PRINCE HENRY. 

I accept it! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where are the children ? 

URSULA. 

They are already asleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What if they were dead? 

IN THE GARDEN. 
ELSIE. 

I have one thing to ask of you. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

What is it? 
It is already granted. 



ELSIE. 

Promise me, 

When we are gone from here, and 
on our way 

Are journeying to Salerno, you 
will not, 

By word or deed, endeavor to dis- 
suade me 860 

And turn me from my purpose; 
but remember 

That as a pilgrim to the Holy City 

Walks unmolested, and with 
thoughts of pardon 

Occupied wholly, so would I ap- 
proach 

The gates of Heaven, in this great 
jubilee, 

With my petition, putting off from 
me 

All thoughts of earth, as shoes 
from off my feet. 

Promise me this. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Thy words fall from thy lips 
Like roses from the lips of Angelo : 

and angels 869 

Might stoop to pick them up ! 

ELSIE. 

Will you not promise ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

If ever we depart upon this jour- 
ney, 

So long to one or both of us, I 
promise. 



Shall we not go, then? Have you 

lifted me 
Into the air, only to hurl me back 
Wounded upon the ground? and 

offered me 
The waters of eternal life, to bid me 
Drink the polluted puddles of this 

world ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

O Elsie ! what a lesson thou dost 
teach me ! 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



555 



The life which is, and that which 
is to come, 

Suspended hang in such nice equi- 
poise 880 

A hreath disturbs the balance ; 
and that scale 

In which we throw our hearts pre- 
ponderates, 

And the other, like an empty one, 
flies up, 

And is accounted vanity and air ! 

To me the thought of death is 
terrible, 

Having such hold on life. To thee 
it is not 

So much even as the lifting of a 
latch ; 

Only a step into the open air 

Out of a tent already luminous 

With light that shines through its 
transparent walls ! 890 

pure in heart! from thy sweet 

dust shall grow 
Lilies, upon whose petals will be 
written 

1 Ave Maria ' in characters of gold ! 

Ill 

A STREET IN STRASBURG- 

Night. Prince Henry wander- 
ing alone, wrapped in a cloak. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Still is the night. The sound of feet 
Has died away from the empty 

street, 
And like an artisan, bending down 
His head on his anvil, the dark 

town 
Sleeps, with a slumber deep and 

sweet. 
Sleepless and restless, I alone, 
In the dusk and damp of these 

walls of stone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse ! 

CRIER OF the dead, ringing a 
bell. 
Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 10 



Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead I 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Hark! with what accents loud 

and hoarse 
This warder on the walls of 

death 
Sends forth the challenge of his 

breath ! 
I see the dead that sleep in the 

grave ! 
They rise up and their garments 

wave, 
Dimly and spectral, as they rise, 
With the light of another world in 

their eyes ! 

CRIER OF THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 20 

All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Why for the dead, who are at rest ? 
Pray for the living, in whose breast 
The struggle between right and 

wrong 
Is raging terrible and strong, 
As when good angels war with 

devils ! 
This is the Master of the Revels, 
Who, at Life's flowing feast, pro- 
poses 30 
The health of absent friends, and 

pledges, 
Not in bright goblets crowned with 

roses, 
And tinkling as we touch their 

edges, 
But with his dismal, tinkling bell, 
That mocks and mimics their fu* 

neral knell ! 

CRIER OF THE DEAD. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead 1 



556 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Wake not, beloved ! be thy sleep 40 
Silent as night is, and as deep ! 
There walks a sentinel at thy gate 
Whose heart is heavy and deso- 
late, 
And the heavings of whose bosom 

number 
The respirations of thy slumber, 
As if some strange, mysterious 

fate 
Had linked two hearts in one, and 

mine 
Went madly wheeling about thine, 
Only with wider and wilder sweep! 

crier OP the dead, at a dis- 
tance. 
Wake! wake! 50 

All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo! with what depth of blackness 

thrown 
Against the clouds, far up the 

skies 
The walls of the cathedral rise, 
Like a mysterious grove of stone, 
With fitful lights and shadows 

blending, 
As from behind, the moon, ascend- 
ing, 
Lights its dim aisles and paths un- 
known ! ' 60 
The wind is rising ; but the boughs 
Rise not and fall not with the 

wind, 
That through their foliage sobs 

and soughs ; 
Only the cloudy rack behind, 
Drifting onward, wild and ragged, 
Gives to each spire and buttress 

jagged 
A seeming motion undefined. 
Below on the square, an armed 

knight, 
Still as a statue and as white, 
Sits on his steed, and the moon- 
beams quiver 70 



Upon the points of his armor 

bright 
As on the ripples of a river. 
He lifts the visor from his cheek, 
And beckons, and makes as he 

would speak. 

WALTER the Minnesinger. 
Friend! can you tell me where 

alight 
Thuringia's horsemen for the 

night ? 
For I have lingered in the rear, 
And wander vainly up and down. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am a stranger in the town, 

As thou art; but the voice 1 

hear 80 

Is not a stranger to mine ear. 
Thou art Walter of the Vogel- 

weid ! 

WALTER. 

Thou hast guessed rightly; anc 

thy name 
Is Henry of Hoheueck ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ay, the same. 

WALTER, embracing him. 
Come closer, closer to my side ! 
What brings thee hither? What 

potent charm 
Has drawn thee from thy Germar 

farm 
Into the old Alsatian city? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A tale of wonder and of pity ! 
A wretched man, almost bj 

stealth 9 

Dragging my body to Salern, 
In the vain hope and search for 

health, 
And destined never to return. 
Already thou hast heard the rest. 
But what brings thee, thus armed 

and dight 
In the equipments of a knight ? 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



557 



WALTER. 

Dost thou not see upon my breast 
riie cross of the Crusaders shine ? 
My pathway leads to Palestine. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A.h, would that way were also 
mine ! ioo 

noble poet ! thou whose heart 
[s like a nest of singing-birds 
Rocked on the topmost bough of 

life, 
Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, 
And in the clangor of the strife 
Mingle the music of thy words ? 

WALTER. 

My hopes are high, my heart is 

proud, 
And like a trumpet long and loud, 
Ihither my thoughts all clang and 

ring! 
My life is in my hand, and lo ! no 

1 grasp and bend it as a bow, 
And shoot forth from its trembling 

string 
An arrow, that shall be, perchance, 
Like the arrow of the Israelite 

king 
Shot from the window toward the 

east, 
That of the Lord's deliverance ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

My life, alas ! is what thou seest ! 

enviable fate ! to be 

Strong, beautiful, and armed like 

thee 
With lyre and sword, with song 

and steel; 120 

A hand to smite, a heart to feel ! 
Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy 

sword, 
Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; 
While I, so mean and abject 

grown, 
Am thinking of myself alone. 

WALTER. 

Be patient : Time will reinstate 
Thy health and fortunes. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

'T is too late I 
I cannot strive against my fate ! 

WALTER. 

Come with me; for my steed is 

weary ; 
Our journey has been long and 

dreary, 130 

And, dreaming of his stall, he dints 
With his impatient hoofs the 

flints. 

prince henry, aside. 
I am ashamed, in my disgrace, 
To look into that noble face ! 
To-morrow, Walter, let it be. 

WALTER. 

To-morrow, at the dawn of day, 
I shall again be on my way. 
Come with me to the hostelry, 
For I have many things to say, 
Pur journey into Italy 140 

Perchance together we may make ; 
Wilt thou not do it for my sake ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A sick man's pace would but im- 
pede 
Thine eager and impatient speed. 
Besides, my pathway leads me 

round 
To Hirschau, in the forest's bound, 
Where I assemble man and steed, 
And all things for my journey's 
need. 

They go out. 

lucifer, flying over the city. 

Sleep, sleep, O city ! till the light 

Wake you to sin and crime 
again, 150 

Whilst on your dreams, like dis- 
mal rain, 

I scatter downward through the 
night 

My maledictions dark and deep. 

I have more martyrs in your walls 

Than God has ; and they cannot 
sleep ; 



558 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



They are my bondsmen and my 

thralls ; 
Their wretched lives are full of 

pain, 
Wild agonies of nerve and brain ; 
And every heart - beat, every 

breath, 159 

Is a convulsion worse than death ! 
Sleep, sleep, O city ! though within 
The circuit of your walls there be 
No habitation free from sin, 
And all its nameless misery ; 
The aching heart, the aching head, 
Grief for the living and the dead, 
And foul corruption of the time, 
Disease, distress, and want, and 

woe, 
And crimes, and passions that may 

grow 
Until they ripen into crime ! 170 



SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE 

CATHEDRAL. - 

Easter Sunday. Friar Cuth- 
bert preaching to the crowd 
from a pulpit in the open air. 
Prince Henry and Elsie 
crossing the square. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This is the day, when from the 

dead 
Our Lord arose ; and everywhere, 
Out of their darkness and despair, 
Triumphant over fears and foes, 
The hearts of his disciples rose, 
When to the women, standing near, 
The Angel in shining vesture said, 
'The Lord is risen; He is not 

here ! ' 
And, mindful that the day is come, 
On all the hearths in Christen- 
dom 180 
The fires are quenched, to be again 
Rekindled from the sun, that high 
Is dancing in the cloudless sky. 
The churches are all decked with 

flowers, 
The salutations among men 
Are but the Angel's words divine, 



' Christ is arisen ! ' and the bells 

Catch the glad murmur, as it 
swells, 

And chant together in their tow- 
ers. 

All hearts are glad ; and free from 
care 190 

The faces of the people shine. 

See what a crowd is in the square, 

Gayly and gallantly arrayed ! 

ELSIE. 

Let us go back ; I am afraid ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Nay, let us mount the church-steps 
here, 

Under the doorway's sacred shad- 
ow; 

We can see all things, and be freer 

From the crowd that madly heaves 
and presses ! 

ELSIE. 

What a gay pageant ! what bright 

dresses ! 
It looks like a flower-besprinkled 

meadow. 200 

What is that yonder on the square ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A pulpit in the open air, 

And a Friar, who is preaching to 

the crowd 
In a voice so deep and clear and 

loud, 
That, if we listen, and give heed, 
His lowest words will reach the 



friar cuthbert, gesticulating 

and cracking a postilion's whip. 

What ho ! good people ! do you not 

hear ? 
Dashing along at the top of his 

speed, 
Booted and spurred, on his jaded 

steed, 
A courier comes with words of 

cheer. 210 

Courier ! what is the news, I pray? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



559 



'Christ is arisen ! ' Whence come 

you ? ' From court.' 
Then I do not believe it ; you say 

it in sport. 

Cracks his whip again. 
Ah, here comes another, riding this 

way; 
We soon shall know what he has 

to say. 
Courier! what are the tidings to- 
day? 
'Christ is arisen ! ' Whence come 

you ? ' From town.' 
Then I do not believe it; away 
. with you, clown. 
Cracks his ivhip more violently. 
And here comes a third, who is 

spurring amain ; 
What news do you bring, with your 

loose-hanging rein, 220 

Your spurs wet with blood, and 

your bridle with foam ? 
• Christ is arisen ! ' Whence come 

you ? ' From Borne.' 
Ah, now I believe. He is risen, 

indeed. 
Ride on with the news, at the top 

of your speed ! 
Great applause among the crowd. 
To come back to my text ! When 

the news was first spread 
That Christ was arisen indeed 

from the dead, 
Very great was the joy of the 

angels in heaven ; 
And as great the dispute as to who 

should carry 
The tidings thereof to the Virgin 

Mary, 
Pierced to the heart with sorrows 

seven. 230 

Old Father Adam was first to pro- 
pose, 
As being the author of all our 

woes; 
But he was refused, for fear, said 

they, 
He would stop to eat apples on 

the way ! 
Abel came next, but petitioned in 

vain, 



Because he might meet with his 

brother Cain ! 
Noah, too, was refused, lest his 

weakness for wine 
Should delay him at every tavern 

sign ; 
And John the Baptist could not 

get a vote, 
On account of his old-fashioned 

camel's-hair coat ; 240 

And the Penitent Thief, who died 

on the cross, 
Was reminded that all his bones 

were broken ! 
Till at last, when each in turn had 

spoken, 
The company being still at loss, 
The Angel, who rolled away the 

stone, 
Was sent to the sepulchre, all 

alone. 
And filled with glory that gloomy 

prison, 
And said to the Virgin, ' The Lord 

is arisen ! ' 

The Cathedral bells ring. 

But hark ! the bells are beginning 

to chime ; 
And I feel that I am growing 

hoarse. 250 

I will put an end to my discourse, 
And leave the rest for some other 

time. 
For the bells themselves are the; 

best of preachers ; 
Their brazen lips are learned 

teachers, 
From their pulpits of stone, in the 

upper air, 
Sounding aloft, without crack or 

flaw, 
Shriller than trumpets under the 

Law, 
Now a sermon, and now a prayer. 
The clangorous hammer is the 

tongue, 
This way, that way, beaten and 

swung, ' 260 

That from mouth of brass, as from 

mouth of Gold, 



56o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



May be taught the Testaments, 


ELSIE. 


New and Old. 


I am at home here in my Father's 


And above it the great cross-beam 


house ! 


of wood 


These paintings of the Saints upon 


Representeth the Holy Rood, 


the walls 290 


Upon which, like the bell, our 


Have all familiar and benignant 


hopes are hung. 


faces. 


And the wheel wherewith it is 




swayed and rung 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Is the mind of man, that round 


The portraits of the family of 


and round 


God! 


Sways, and maketh the tongue to 


Thine own hereafter shall be 


sound ! 


placed among them. 


And the rope, with its twisted cor- 




dage three, 


ELSIE. 


Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity 


How very grand it is and wonder- 


Of Morals, and Symbols, and His- 


ful! 


tory; 271 


Never have I beheld a church so 


And the upward and downward 


splendid ! 


motion show 


Such columns, and such arches, 


That we touch upon matters high 


and such windows, 


and low ; 


So many tombs and statues in the 


And the constant change and 


chapels, 


transmutation 


And under them so many confes- 


Of action and of contemplation, 


sionals. 


Downward, the Scripture brought 


They must be for the rich. I 


from on high, 


should not like 


Upward, exalted again to the 


To tell my sins in such a church 


sky; 


as this. 300 


Downward, the literal interpreta- 
tion, 
Upward, the Vision and Mystery! 


Who built It? 


PRINCE HENRY. 




A great master of his craft, 


And now, my hearers, to make an 


Erwin von Steinbach ; but not ne 


end, 280 


alone, 


I have only one word more to 


For many generations labored with 


say; 


him. 


In the church, in honor of Easter 


Children that came to see these 


day 


Saints in stone, 


Will be presented a Miracle Play ; 


As day by day out of the blocks 


And I hope you will all have the 


they rose, 


grace to attend. 


Grew old and died, and still the 


Christ bring us at last to bis feli- 


work went on, 


city! 


And on, and on, and is not yet 


Pax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! 


completed. 




The generation that succeeds our 


IN THE CATHEDRAL,. 


own 




Perhaps may finish it The archi- 


CHANT. 


tect 


Kyrie Eleison ! 


BuiR his great heart into these 


Christe Eleison ! 


sculptured stones, 310 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



561 



And with him toiled his children, 

and their lives 
Were huilded, with his own, into 

the walls, 
As offerings unto God, You see 

that statue 
Fixing its joyous, hut deep-wrin- 
kled eyes 
Upon the Pillars of the Angels 

yonder. 
That is the image of the master, 

carved 
By the fair hand of his own cHild, 

Sabina. 

ELSIE. 

How beautiful is the column that 
he looks at ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

That, too, she sculptured. At the 
base of it 

Stand the Evangelists ; above their 
heads 320 

Four Angels blowing upon marble 
trumpets, 

And over them the blessed Christ, 
surrounded 

By his attendant ministers, uphold- 
ing 

The instruments of his passion. 

ELSIE. 

O my Lord ! 
Would I could leave behind me 

upon earth 
Some monument to thy glory, such 

as this ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

A greater monument than this 
thou leave st 

In thine own life, all purity and 
love! 

See, too, the Rose, above the west- 
ern portal 

Resplendent with a thousand gor- 
geous colors, 330 

The perfect flower of Gothic love- 
liness I 



ELSIE. 

And,. in the gallery, the long line 

of statues, 
Christ with his twelve Apostles 

watching us ! 

A BrsHOP in armor, booted and 
spurred, passes with his train. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

But come away ; we have not time 
to look. 

The crowd already fills the church, 
and yonder 

Upon a stage, a herald with a trum- 
pet, 

Clad like the Angel Gabriel, pro- 
claims 

The Mystery that will now be re- 
presented. 



THE NATIVITY 

A MIRACLE-PLAr 

LNTROITUS 

PR^CO. 

Come, good people, all and each, 
Come and listen to our speech ! 
In your presence here I stand, 341 
With a trumpet in my hand, 
To announce the Easter Play, 
Which we represent to-day ! 
First of all we shall rehearse, 
In our action and our verse, 
The Nativity of our Lord, 
As written in the old record 
Of the Protevangelion, 
So that he who reads may run ! 
Blows his trumpet. 

I. HEAVEN. 

mercy, at the feet of God. 
Have pity, Lord ! be not afraid 
To save mankind, whom thou hast 
made, 352 

Nor let the souls that were be- 
trayed 
Perish eternally ! 



562 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



JUSTICE. 

It cannot be, it must not be ! 
When in the garden placed by 

thee, 
The -fruit of the forbidden tree 
He ate, and he must die ! 

MERCY. 

Have pity, Lord ! let penitence 
Atone for disobedience, 360 

Nor let the fruit of man's offence 
Be endless misery ! 

JUSTICE. 

What penitence proportionate 
Can e'er be felt for sin so great? 
Of the forbidden fruit he ate, 
And damned must he be ! 

GOD. 

He shall be saved, if that within 
The bounds of earth one free from 

sin 
Be found, who for his kith and 

kin 
Will suffer martyrdom. 370 

THE FOUR VIRTUES. 

Lord ! we have searched tbe world 

around, 
From centre to the utmost bound, 
But no such mortal can be found ; 
Despairing, back we come. 

wisdom. 
No mortal, but a God made man, 
Can ever carry out this plan, 
Achieving what none other can, 
Salvation unto all ! 

GOD. 

Go, then, O my beloved Son ! 
It can by thee alone be done ; 380 
By thee the victory shall be won 
O'er Satan and the Fall ! 

Here the Angel Gabriel shall 
leave Paradise and fly towards 
the earth ; the jaws of Hell open 
below 1 and the Devils walk about, 
making a great noise. 



II. MARY AT THE WELL. 



MARY. 



and 



Along the garden walk, 

thence 
Through the wicket in the garden 
fence, 
I steal with quiet pace, 
My pitcher at the well to fill, 
That lies so deep and cool and. 
still 
In this sequestered place. 
• 
These sycamores keep guard 

around ; 
I see no face, I hear no sound, 390 

Save bubblings of the spring, 
And my companions, who, within, 
The threads of gold and scarlet 
spin, 
And at their labor sing. 

THE ANGEL GABRIEL. 

Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace ! 

Here Mary looketh around her t 
trembling, and then saith : 

MARY. 

Who is it speaketh in this place, 
With such a gentle voice ? 

GABRIEL. 

The Lord of heaven is with thee 

now! 
Blessed among all women thou, 
Who art his holy choice ! 400 

MARY, setting down the pitcher. 
What can this mean ? No one is 

near, 
And yet, such sacred words I hear, 

I almost fear to stay. 
Here the Angel, appearing to he**, 
shall say : 

GABRIEL. 

Fear not, O Mary ! but believe ! 
For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceivt 

A child this very day. 
Fear not. O Mary ! from the sky 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



563 



The majesty of the Most High 
Shall overshadow thee ! 

MARY. 

Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! 
According to thy holy word, 4 1 1 
So be it unto me ! 

Here the Devils shall again make 
a great noise, under the stage. 



III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN 
PLANETS, BEARING THE STAR 
OF BETHLEHEM. 

THE ANGELS. 

The Angels of the Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fields of heaven 

The natal star we bring ! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues 

down 
As priceless jewels in the crown 

Of Christ, our new-born King. 

RAPHAEL. 

I am the Angel of the Sun, 
Whose flaming wheels began to 
run 420 

When God's almighty breath 
Said to the darkness and the Night, 
Let there be light ! and there was 
light ! 
I bring the gift of Faith. 

ONAFIEL. 

I am the Angel of the Moon, 
Darkened to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cope ! 
Nearest to earth, it is my ray 
That best illumes the midnight 
way; 

I bring the gift of Hope ! 430 

ANAEL. 

The Angel of the Star of Love, 
The Evening Star, that shines 

above 
The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearths and 

homes, 



On roofs of thatch, or golden 
domes, 
I give him Charity ! 

ZOBIACHEL. 

The Planet Jupiter is mine ! 
The mightiest star of all that shine, 

Except the sun alone ! 
He is the High Priest of the Dove, 
And sends, from his great throne 
above, 44 i 

Justice, that shall atone ! 

MICHAEL. 

The Planet Mercury, whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space, 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardor swift 
I bear upon my hands the gift 

Of heavenly Prudence here ! 

URIEL. 

I am the Minister of Mars, 
The strongest star among the 
stars ! 450 

My songs of power prelude 
The march and battle of man's 

life, 
And for the suffering and the strife, 
I give him Fortitude ! 

ORIFEL. 

The Angel of the uttermost 

Of all the shining, heavenly host, 

From the far-off expanse 
Of the Saturnian, endless space 
I bring the last, the crowning 
grace, 

The gift of Temperance ! 460 

A sudden light shines from the 
windoios of the stable in the vil- 
lage below. 



IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. 

The stable of the Inn. The Vir- 
gin and Child. Three Gypsy 
Kings, Gaspar, Melchior, 
and Belshazzar, shall come 
in. 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



GASPAR. 

Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth ! 
Though in a manger thou draw 

breath, 
Thou art greater than Life and 

Death, 
Greater than Joy or Woe ! 
This cross upon the line of life 
Portendeth struggle, toil, and 

strife, 
And through a region with peril 

rife 
In darkness shalt thou go ! 

MELCHIOR. 

Hail to thee, King of Jerusa- 
lem! 

Though humbly born in Bethle- 
hem, 470 

A sceptre and a diadem 
Await thy brow and hand ! 

The sceptre is a simple reed, 

The crown will make thy temples 
bleed, 

And in thine hour of greatest need, 
Abashed thy subjects stand ! 

BELSHAZZAR. 

Hail to thee, Christ of Christen- 
dom! 

O'er all the earth thy kingdom 
come! 

From distant Trebizond to Eome 
Thy name shall men adore ! 480 

Peace and good-will among all 
men, 

The Virgin has returned again, 

Eeturned the old Saturnian reign 
And Golden Age once more. 

THE CHILD CHRIST. 

Jesus, the Son of God, am I, 
Born here to suffer and to die 
According to the prophecy, 
That other men may live ! 

THE VIRGIN. 

And now these clothes, that 

wrapped Him, take 
And keep them precious, for his 

sake ; 490 



Our benediction thus we make, 
Naught else have we to give. 
She gives them swaddling-clothes^ 
and they depart. ■ 



V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

Here Joseph shall come in, lead- 
ing an ass, on which are seated 
Mary and the Child. 

MARY. 

Here will we rest us, under these 
O'erhanging branches of the trees, 
Where robins chant their Lita- 
nies 
And canticles of joy. 

JOSEPH. 

My saddle-girths have given way 
With trudging through the heat 

to-day ; 
To you I think it is but play 
To ride and hold the boy. 500 

MARY. 

Hark! how the robins shout and 

sing, 
As if to hail their infant King! 
I will alight at yonder spring 
To wash his little coat. 

JOSEPH. 

And I will hobble well the ass, 
Lest, being loose upon the grass, 
He should escape; for, by the 
mass, 
He 's nimble as a goat. 

Here Mary shall alight and go to 
the spring. 

MARY. 

Joseph ! I am much afraid, 
For men are sleeping in the shade ; 

1 fear that we shall be waylaid, 511 
And robbed and beaten sore ! 

Here a band of robbers shall be 
seen sleeping, two of whom shall 
rise arid come forward. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



565 



DUMACHUS. 

Cock's soul ! deliver up your gold ! 

JOSEPH. 

I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold ! 
You see that I am weak and old, 
Of wealth I have no store. 

DUMACHUS. 

Give up your money ! 

TITUS. 

Prithee cease. 
Let these people go in peace. 

DUMACHUS. 

First let them pay for their release, 
And then go on their way. 520 

TITUS. 

These forty groats I give in fee, 
If thou wilt only silent be. 

MARY. 

May God be merciful to thee 
Upon the Judgment Day ! 

JESUS. 

When thirty years shall have gone 

by, 
I at Jerusalem shall die. 
By Jewish hands exalted high 

On the accursed tree, 
Then on my right and my left side, 
These thieves shall both be cruci- 
fied, 530 
And Titus thenceforth shall abide 

In paradise with me. 

Here a great rumor of trumpets 
and horses, like the noise of a 
king with his army, and the 
robbers shall take flight. 



VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE 
INNOCENTS. 

KING HEROD. 

Potz-tausend ! Himmel-sacrament ! 
Filled am I with great wonderment 



At this unwelcome news ! 
Am I not Herod ? Who shall dare 
My crown to take, my sceptre 
bear, 

As king among the Jews ? 

Here he shall stride up and down 

and flourish his sword. 
What ho ! I fain would drink a 

can 
Of the strong wine of Canaan ! 

The wine of Helbon bring 541 
I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 
As red as blood, as hot as fire, 
And fit for any king ! 
He quaffs great goblets of wine. 

Now at the window will I stand, 
While in the street the armed 
band 
The little children slay ; 
The babe just born in Bethlehem 
Will surely slaughtered be with 
them, 
Nor live another day ! 550 

Here a voice of lamentation shall 
be heard in the street. 

RACHEL. 

O wicked king ! O cruel speed ! 
To do this most uurighteous deed I 
My children all are slain ! 

HEROD. 

Ho seneschal ! another cup ! 

With wine of Sorek fill it up ! 

I would a bumper drain ! 



May maledictions fall and blast 
Thyself and lineage, to the last 
Of all thy kith and kin! 

HEROD. 

Another goblet ! quick ! and stir 
Pomegranate juice and drops of 
myrrh 561 

And calamus therein 1 

soldiers, in the street. 
Give up thy child into our hands I 



566 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



It is King Herod who commands 


Bend down their necks and 


That he should thus be slain ! 


drink ! 




Now will I make them sing and 


THE NURSE MEDUSA. 


soar 


monstrous men ! What have ye 


So fai\ they shall return no more 


done! 


Unto this river's brink. 


It is King Herod's only son 




That ye have cleft in twain ! 


JUDAS. 




That canst thou not! They are 


HEROD. 


but clay, 


Ah, luckless day ! What words of 


They cannot sing, nor fly away 


fear 


Above the meadow lands ! 


Are these that smite upon my ear 




With such a doleful sound ! 571 


JESUS. 


What torments rack my heart and 


Fly, fly ! ye sparrows ! you are 


head ! 


free ! 590 


Would I were dead ! would I were 


And while you live, remember 


dead, 


me, 


And buried in the ground ! 


Who made you with my hands. 


He falls down and writhes as 




though eaten by worms. Hell 


Here Jesus shall clap his hands, 


opens, and Satan and Asta- 


and the sparrows shall fly away, 


roth come forth, and drag him 


chirruping. 


down. 






JUDAS. 




Thou art a sorcerer, I know ; 


VII. JESUS AT play with his 


Oft has my mother told me so, 


SCHOOLMATES. 


I will not play with thee ! 


JESUS. 


He strikes Jesus inthe right side. 


The shower is over. Let us play, 




And make some sparrows out of 


JESUS. 


clay, 


Ah, Judas ! thou hast smote my 


Down by the river's side. 


side, 




And when I shall be crucified, 


JUDAS. 


There shall I pierced be ! 


See, how the stream has over- 


Here Joseph shall come in and 


flowed 


say : 


Its banks, and o'er the meadow 




road 


JOSEPH. 


Is spreading far and wide ! 580 


Ye wicked boys ! why do ye 




play, 


They draw ivater out of the river 


And break the holy Sabbath day ? 


by channels, and form little 


What, think ye, will your mothers 


pools. Jesus makes twelve 


say 601 


sparrows of clay, and the other 


To see you in such plight ! 


boys do the same. 


In such a sweat and such a heat. 




With all that mud upon your 


JESUS. 


feet! 


Aook ! look how prettily I make 


There 's not a beggar in the street 


These little sparrows by the lake 


Makes such a sorry sight ! 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



567 



VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 


JUDAS. 




He stands beside him, dark and 


The Rabbi Ben Israel,' sitting 


tall, 


on a high stool, with a long 


Holding a sword, from which doth 


beard, and a rod in his hand. 


fall 


RABBI. 


Into his mouth a drop of gall, 


And so he turneth white. 


I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, 




Throughout this village kuowu full 


RABBI. 


well, 


And now, my Judas, say to me 


And, as my scholars all will tell, 


What the great Voices Four may 


Learned in things divine ; 610 


be, 640 


The Cabala and Talmud hoar 


That quite across the world do 


Than all the prophets prize I 


flee, 


more, 


And are not heard by men? 


For water is all Bible lore, 




But Mishna is strong wine. 


JUDAS. 




The Voice of the Sun in heaven's 


My fame extends from West to 


dome, 


East, 


The Voice of the Murmuring of 


And always, at the Purim feast, 


Rome, 


I am as drunk as any beast 


The Voice of a Soul that goeth 


That wallows in his sty ; 


home, 


The wine it so elateth me, 


And the Angel of the Rain ! 


That I no difference can see 620 




Between 'Accursed Haman be ! ' 


RABBI. 


And ' Blessed be Mordecai ! ' 


Right are thine answers every one ! 




Now little Jesus, the carpenter's 


Come hither, Judas Iscariot ; 


son, 


Say, if thy lesson thou hast got 


Let us see how thy task is done ; 


From the Rabbinical Book or 
not. 


Canst thou thy letters say ? 650 


Why howl the dogs at night? 


JESUS. 




Aleph. 


JUDAS. 




In the Rabbinical Book, it saith 


RABBI. 


The dogs howl, when with icy 


What next ? Do not stop yet ! 


breath 


Go on with all the alphabet. 


Great Sammael, the Angel of 


Come, Aleph, Beth ; dost thou for- 


Death, 


get? 


Takes through the town his 


Cock's soul! thou'dst rather 


flight ! 630 


play! 


RABBI. 


JESUS. 


Well, boy! now say, if thou art 


What Aleph means I fain would 


wise, 


know, 


When the Angel of Death, who is 


Before I any farther go ! 


full of eyes, 




Comes where a sick man dying 


RABBI. 


lies, 


Oh, by Saint Peter ! wouldst thou 


What doth he to the wight ? 


so? 



568 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Come hither, boy, to me. 
As surely as the letter Jod 
Once cried aloud, and spake to 
God, 660 

So surely shalt thou feel this 
rod, 
And punished shalt thou be ! 

Here Eabbi Ben Israel shall 
lift up his rod to strike Jesus, 
and his right arm shall be par- 
al 



IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. 

Jesus sitting among his play- 
mates crowned with flowers as 
their King. 

BOYS. 

We spread our garments oh the 

ground ! 
With fragrant flowers thy head is 

crowned 
While like a guard we stand 

around, 
And hail thee as our King ! 
Thou art the new King of the 

Jews! 
Nor let the passers-by refuse 
To bring that homage which men 

use 
To majesty to bring. 670 

Here a traveller shall go by, and 
the boys shall lay hold of his 
garments and say : 

BOYS. 

Come hither ! and all reverence 
pay 

Unto our monarch, crowned to- 
day ! 

Then go rejoicing on your way, 
In all prosperity ! 

TRAVELLER. 

Hail to the King of Bethlehem, 
Who weareth in his diadem 



The yellow crocus for the gem 
Of his authority ! 

He passes by ; and others come in, 
bearing on a litter a sick child. 

BOYS. 

Set down the litter and draw near ! 
The King of Bethlehem is here ! 
What ails the child, who seems to 
fear 681 

That we shall do him harm ? 

THE BEARERS. 

He climbed up to the robin's nest, 
And out there darted, from his 

rest, 
A serpent with a crimson crest, 
And stung him in the arm. 

JESUS. 

Bring him to me, and let me 

feel 
The wounded place ; my touch can 

heal 
The sting of serpents, and can 

steal 
The poison from the bite ! 690 

He touches the wound, and the 
boy begins to cry. 

Cease to lament! I can fore- 
see 

That thou hereafter known shalt 
be, 

Among the men who follow me, 
As Simon the Canaanite ! 

EPILOGUE. 

In the after part of the day 
Will be represented another play, 
Of the Passion of our Blessed 

Lord, 
Beginning directly after Nones ! 
At the close of which we shall ac- 
cord, 
By way of benison and reward, 
The sight of a holy Martyr's 
bones ! 701 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 569 

IV 

THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU 
Prince Henry and Elsie, with their attendants on horseback. 

ELSIE. 

Onward and onward the highway runs to the distant city, impatiently 

hearing 
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, of doing and 

daring ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This life of ours is a wild seolian harp of many a joyous strain, 

But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. 

ELSIE. 

Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and hleeds with 

the stigma 
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can comprehend its dark 

enigma. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure with little care of what may be- 
tide, 

Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon that rides by an 
angel's side ? 

ELSIE. 

All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog under the creak- 
ing wain 

Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the horses toil and 
strain. 10 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Now they stop at the wayside inn, and the wagoner laughs with the 

landlord's daughter, 
While out of the dripping trough the horses distend their leathern 

sides with water. 

ELSIE. 

All through life there are wayside inns, where man may refresh his 

soul with love ; 
Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed by springs from 

above. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, our journey along the highway 

ends, 
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the broad green valley 

descends. 

ELSIE. 

I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road with its dust and heat ; 
The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer under our horses' 
feet. 

They turn down a green lane. 



STO 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



ELSIE. 

Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for 

miles below 
Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lightest 

snow. 20 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming against the distant hill ; 
We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like a banner when 
winds are still. 

ELSIE. 

Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool the sound of the brook by 

our side ! 
What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it over a land so wide ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the home of the Counts of Calva ; well have I known these scenes 

of old, 
Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the brooklet, the 

wood, and the wold. 

ELSIE. 

Hark ! from the little village below us the bells of the church are ring- 
ing for rain ! 

Priests and peasants in long procession come forth and kneel on the 
arid plain. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They have not long to wait, for I see in the south uprising a little cloud, 
That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky above us as with a 
shroud. 30 

They pass on. 



THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN 
THE BLACK FOREST. 

The Convent cellar. Friar Claus 
conies in with a light and a bas- 
ket of empty flagons. 

FRIAR CLAUS. 

I always enter this sacred place 
With a thoughtful, solemn, and 

reverent pace, 
Pausing long enough on each stair 
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, 
And a benediction on the vines 
That produce these various sorts 

of wines ! 
For my part, I am well con- 
tent 
That we have got through with the 
tedious Lent \ 



Fasting is all very well for those 
Who have to contend with invis'- 

ble foes ; 40 

But I am quite sure it does not 

agree 
With a quiet, peaceable man like 

me, 
Who am not of that nervous and 

meagre kind, 
That are always distressed in body 

and mind ! 
And at times it really does me 

good 
To come down among this brother- 
hood, 
Dwelling forever underground, 
Silent, contemplative, round and 

sound ; 
Each one old, and brown with 
• mould, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



571 



But filled to the lips with the ardor 
of youth, 50 

With the latent power and love of 
truth, 

And with virtues fervent and mani- 
fold. 

I have heard it said, that at 

Easter-tide 
When buds are swelling on every 

side, 
And the sap begins to move in the 

vine, 
Then in all cellars, far and wide, 
The oldest as well as the newest 

wine 
Begins to stir itself, and ferment, 
With a kind of revolt and discon- 
tent 
At being so long in darkness pent, 
And fain would burst from its 
sombre tun 61 

To bask on the hillside in the sun ; 
As in the bosom of us poor friars, 
The tumult of half- subdued de- 
sires 
For the world that we have left 

behind 
Disturbs at times all peace of 

mind! 
And now that we. have lived 

through Lent, 
My duty it is, as often before, 
To open awhile the prison-door, 
And give these restless spirits 
vent. 70 

Now here is a cask that stands 

alone, 
And has stood a hundred years or 

more, 
Its beard of cobwebs, long and 

hoar, 
Trailing and sweeping along the 

floor, 
Like Barbarossa, who sits in his 

cave, 
Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and 

grave, 
Till his beard has grown through 

the table of stone ! 



It is of the quick and not of the 

dead! 
In its veins the blood is hot and 

red, 
And a heart still beats in those 

ribs of oak 80 

That time may have tamed, but 

has not broke ! 
It comes from Bacharach on the 

Rhine, 
Is one of the three best kinds of 

wine, 
And costs some hundred florins 

the ohm ; 
But tbat I do not consider dear, 
When I remember that every year 
Four butts are sent to the Pope of 

Rome. 
And whenever a goblet thereof I 

drain, 
The old rhyme keeps running in 

my brain : 

At Bacharach on the Rhine, 90 
At Hochheim on the Main, 
And at Wiirzburg on the Stein, 
Grow the three best kinds of wine ! 

They are all good wines, and 

better far 
Than those of the Neckar, or those 

of the Ahr. 
In particular, Wiirzburg well may 

boast 
Of its blessed wine of the Holy 

Ghost, 
Which of all wines I like the most. 
This I shall draw for the Abbot's 

drinking, 
Who seems to be much of my way 

of thinking. 100 

Fills a flagon. 
Ah ! how the streamlet laughs and 

sings ! 
What a delicious fragrance springs 
From the deep flagon, while it fills, 
As of hyacinths and daffodils ! 
Between this cask and the Abbot's 

lips 
Many have been the sips *nd 

slips ; 



572 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Many have been the draughts of 

wine, 
On their way to his, that have 

stopped, at mine ; 
And many a time my soul has 

hankered 
For a deep draught out of his 

silver tankard, no 

When it should have been busy 

with other affairs, 
Less with its longings and more 

with its prayers. 
But now there is no such awkward 

condition, 
No danger of death and eternal 

perdition ; 
So here 's to the Abbot and Bro- 
thers all, 
Who dwell in this convent of Peter 

and Paul ! 

He drinks. 
O cordial delicious ! O soother of 

pain! 
It flashes like sunshine into my 

brain ! 
A benison rest on the Bishop who 

sends 
Such a fudder of wine as this to 

his friends ! 120 

And now a flagon for such as may 

ask 
A draught from the noble Bach- 

arach cask, 
And I will be gone, though I know 

full well 
The cellar's a cheerfuller place 

than the cell. 
Behold where he stands, all sound 

and good, 
Brown and old in his oaken hood : 
Silent he seems externally 
As any Carthusian monk may be : 
But within, what a spirit of deep 

unrest I 
What a seething and simmering 

in his breast! 130 

As if the heaving of his great 

heart 
Would burst his belt of oak apart ! 
Let me unloose this button of 

wood, 



And quiet a little his turbulent 

mood. 

Sets it running. 
See ! how its currents gleam and 

shine, 
As if they had caught the purple 

hues 
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, 
Descending and mingling with the 

dews; 
Or as if the grapes were stained 

with the blood 
Of the innocent boy, who, some 

years back, 140 

Was taken and crucified by the 

Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacha- 

rach; 
Perdition upon those infidel Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacha- 

rach ! 
The beautiful town, that gives us 

wine 
With the fragrant odor of Musca- 
dine! 
I should deem it wrong to let this 

pass 
Without first touching my lips to 

the glass, 
For here in the midst of the cur- 
rent I stand 
Like the stone Pfalz in the midst 

of the river, 150 

Taking toll upon either hand, 
And much more grateful to the 

giver. 

He drinks. 
Here, now, is a very inferior kind, 
Such as in any town you may find, 
Such as one might imagine would 

suit 
The rascal who drank wine out of 

a boot. 
And, after all, it was not a crime, 
For he won thereby Dorf Huffel- 

sheim. 
A jolly old toper ! who at a pull 
Could drink a postilion's jack-boot 

full, 160 

And ask with a laugh, when that 

was done, 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



573 



If the fellow had left the other 

one! 
This wine is as good as we can 

afford 
To the friars, who sit at the lower 

board, 
And cannot distinguish bad from 

good, 
And are far better off than if they 

could, 
Being rather the rude disciples of 

beer 
Than of anything more refined and 

dear ! 
Fills the flagon and departs. 

THE SCRIPTORIUM. 

Friar Pactficus transcribing 
and illuminating. 

FRIAR RACIFICUS. 

It is growing dark ! Yet one line 

more, 
And then my work for to-day is 

o'er. 170 

I come again to the name of the 

Lord! 
Ere I that awful name record, 
That is spoken so lightly among 

men, 
Let me pause awhile, and wash 

my pen ; 
Pure from blemish and blot must 

it be 
When it writes that word of mys- 
tery ! 

Thus have I labored on and on, 
Nearly through the Gospel of 

John. 
Can it be that from the lips 
Of this same gentle Evangelist, 180 
That Christ himself perhaps has 

kissed, 
Came the dread Apocalypse ! 
It has a very awful look, 
As it stands there at the end of 

the book, 
Like the sun in an eclipse. 



Ah me ! when I think of that vi- 
sion divine, 
Think of writing it, line by line, 
I stand in awe of the terrible curse, 
Like the trump of doom, in the 

closing verse ! 
God forgive me ! if ever I 190 

Take aught from the book of that 

Prophecy, 
Lest my part too should be taken 

away 
From the Book of Life on the 

Judgment Day. 
This is well written, though I say 

it! 
I should not be afraid to display 

it 
In open day, on the selfsame shelf 
With the writings of St. Thecla 

herself, 
Or of Theodosius, who of old 
Wrote the Gospels in letters of 

gold! 
That goodly folio standing yon, 

der, 200 

Without a single blot or blunder, 
Would not bear away the palm 

from mine, 
If we should compare them line 

for line. 

There, now, is an initial letter ! 
Saint Ulric himself never made a 

better ! 
Finished down to the leaf and the 

snail, 
Down to the eyes on the peacock's 

tail! 
And now, as I turn the volume 

over, 
And see what lies between cover 

and cover, 
What treasures of art these pages 

hold, 21G 

All ablaze with crimson and gold, 
God forgive me ! I seem to feel 
A certain satisfaction steal 
Into my heart, and into my brain, 
As if my talent had not lain 
Wrapped in a napkin, and all in 

vain. 



574 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Yes, I might almost say to the 

Lord, 
Here is a copy of thy Word, 
"Written out with much toil and 

pain ; 
Take it, O Lord, and let it be 220 
i s something I have done for 

thee ! 
He looks from the windoxv. 
How sweet the air is! How fair 

the scene ! 
I wish I had as lovely a green 
To paint my landscapes and my 

leaves ! 
How the swallows twitter under 

the eaves ! 
There, now, there is one in her nest: 
I can just catch a glimpse of her 

head and hreast, 
And will sketch her thus, in her 

quiet nook, 
For the margin of my Gospel book. 

He makes a sketch. 
I can see nO more. Through the 

valley yonder 230 

A shower is passing; I hear the 

thunder 
Mutter its curses in the air, 
The devil's own and only prayer ! 
The dusty road is brown with rain, 
And, speeding on with might and 

main, 
Hitherward rides a gallant train. 
They do not parley, they cannot 

wait, 
But hurry in at the convent gate. 
What a fair lady ! and beside her 
What a handsome, graceful, noble 

rider ! 240 

Now she gives him her hand to 

alight ; 
They will beg a shelter for the 

night. 
I will go down to the corridor, 
And try to see that face once 

more ; 
It will do for the face of some 

beautiful Saint, 
Or for one of the Maries I shall 

paint. 

Goes out. 



THE CLOISTERS. 

The Abbot Ernestus pacing to 
and fro. 

ABBOT. 

Slowly, slowly up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the 

shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 
Evening shadows are displayed. 
Bound me, o'er me, everywhere, 251 
All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in 

crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 
Baint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 
In my breast the shadows fall ; 260 
Upward steals the life of man, 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky, 
From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls of those that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 
Enter Brince Henry. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Christ is arisen ! 

ABBOT. 

Amen ! He is arisen J 
His peace be with you ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here it reigns forever! 
The peace of God, that passeth 

understanding, 
Beigns in these cloisters and these 

corridors. 270 

Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the 

convent ? 



ABBOT. 



lam. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

And I Brince Henry of Hoheneck, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



575 



Who crave your hospitality to- 


Our hearts would grow as hard as 


night. 


are these stones. 


ABBOT. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


You are thrice welcome to our 


If I remember right, the Counts of 


humble walls. 


Calva 


You do us honor ; and we shall re- 


Founded your convent. 


quite It, 




I fear, hut poorly, entertaining 


ABBOT. 


you 


Even as you say. 


With Paschal eggs, and our poor 




convent wine. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


The remnants of our Easter holi- 


And, if I err not, it is very old. 


days. 






ABBOT. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Within these cloisters he already 


How fares it with the holy monks 


buried 


of Hirschau? 


Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath 


Are all things well with them? 


the flags 




On which we stand, the Abbot 


ABBOT. 


William lies, 300 


All things.are well. 


Of blessed memory. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


A noble convent ! I have known 


And whose tomb is that, 


it long 281 


Which bears the brass escutch- 


By the report of travellers. I now 


eon? 


see 
Their commendations lag behind 


ABBOT. 


the truth. 


A benefactor's. 



You lie here in the valley of the 

Nagold 
As in a nest : and the still river, 

gliding 
Along its bed, is like an admonition 
How all things pass. Your lands 

are rich and ample, 
And your revenues large. God's 

benediction 
Kests on your convent. 

ABBOT. 

By our charities 
We strive to merit it. Our Lord 

and Master, 290 

When He departed, left us in his 

will, 
As our best legacy on earth, the 

poor! 
These we have always with us; 

had we not, 



Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who 

stood 
Godfather to our bells. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your monks are learned 
And holy men, I trust. 

ABBOT. 

There are among them 

Learned and holy men. Yet in 
this age 

We need another Hildebrand, to 
shake 

And purify us like a mighty wind. 

The world is wicked, and some- 
times I wonder 

God does not lose his patience 
with it wholly, 310 

And shatter it like glass ! Even 
here, at times, 



576 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Within these walls, where all 
should be at peace, 

I have my trials. Time has laid 
his hand 

Upon my heart, gently, not smit- 
ing it, 

But as a harper lays his open 
palm 

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibra- 
tions. 

Ashes are on my head, and on my 
lips 

Sackcloth, and in my breast a 
heaviness 

And weariness of life, that makes 
me ready 

To say to the dead Abbots under 

US, 320 

'Make room for me ! ' Only I see 

the dusk 
Of evening twilight coming, and 

have not 
Completed half my task; and so 

at times 
The thought of my shortcomings 

in this life 
Falls like a shadow on the life to 

come. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

We must all die, and not the old 

alone ; 
The young have no exemption 

from that doom. 

ABBOT. 

Ah, yes! the young may die, but 

the old must ! 
That is the difference. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I have heard much laud 
Of your transcribers. Your Scrip- 
torium 330 
Is famous among all; your manu- 
scripts 
Praised for their beauty and their 
excellence. 

ABBOT. 

That is indeed our boast. If you 
desire it, 



You shall behold these treasures. 

And meanwhile 
Shall the Eefectorarius bestow 
Your horses and attendants for 

the night. 

They go in. The Vesper-bell rings. 



THE CHAPEL. 

Vespers; after which the monks 
retire, a chorister leading an old 
monk who is blind. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are all gone, save one who 

lingers, 
Absorbed in deep and silent 

prayer. 
As if his heart could find no rest, 
At times he beats his heaving 

breast 340 

With clenched and convulsive fin- 
gers, 
Then lifts them trembling in the 

air. 
A chorister, with golden hair, 
Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 
Can it be so ? Or does my sight 
Deceive me in the uncertain light? 
Ah no ! I recognize that face, 
Though Time has touched it in his 

flight, 
And changed the auburn hair to 

white. 
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 350 
The deadliest foe of all our race, 
And hateful unto me and mine ! 

THE BLIND MONK. 

Who is it that doth stand so near 
His whispered words I almost 
hear? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the 

Rhine ! 
I know you, and I see the scar, 
The brand upon your forehead, 

shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



577 



THE BLIND MONK. 

Count Hugo once, but now the 

wreck 360 

Of what I was. O Hoheneck ! 
The passionate will, the pride, the 

wrath 
That bore me headlong on my 

path, 
Stumbled and staggered into fear, 
And failed me in my mad career, 
As a tired steed some evil-doer, 
Alone upon a desolate moor, 
Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, 
And hearing loud and close be- 
hind 
The o'ertaking steps of his pur- 
suer. 370 
Then suddenly from the dark there 

came 
A voice that called me by my 

name, 
And said to me, ' Kneel down and 

pray ! ' 
And so my terror passed away, 
Passed utterly away forever. 
Contrition, penitence, remorse, 
Came on me, with o'erwhelming 

force ; 
A hope, a longing, an endeavor, 
By days of penance and nights of 

prayer, 
To frustrate and defeat despair ! 
Calm, deep, and still is now my 

heart, 381 

With tranquil waters overflowed ; 
A lake whose unseen fountains 

start, 
Where once the hot volcano 

glowed. 
And you, O Prince of Hoheneck ! 
Have known me in that earlier 

time, 
A man of violence and crime, 
Whose passions brooked no curb 

nor check. 
Behold me now, in gentler mood, 
One of this holy brotherhood. 390 
Give me your hand; here let me 

kneel ; 
Make your reproaches sharp as 

steel ; 



Spurn me, and smite me on each 

cheek : 
No violence can harm the meek, 
There is no wound Christ cannot 

heal! 
Yes ; lift your princely hand, and 

take 
Bevenge, if 't is revenge you seek ; 
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Arise, Count Hugo! let there 

be 
No further strife nor enmity 400 
Between us twain; we both have 

erred ! 
Too rash in act, too wroth in word, 
From the beginning have we stood 
In fierce, defiant attitude, 
Each thoughtless of the other's 

right, 
And each reliant on his might. 
But now our souls are more sub- 
dued ; 
The hand of God, and not in 

vain, 
Has touched us with the fire of 

pain. 
Let us kneel down and side by 

side 410 

Pray, till our souls are purified, 
And pardon will not be denied ! 
They kneel. 



THE REFECTORY. 

Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. 
Lucifer disguised as a Friar. 

friar paul sings. 
Ave ! color vini clari, 
Dulcis potus, non amari, 
Tua nos inebriari 
Digneris potentia ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Not so much noise, my worthy 

freres, 
You '11 disturb the Abbot at his 

prayers. 



578 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



friar paul sings. 


But do not drink any further, I 


D ! quam placens in colore ! 


beg! 


0! quam fragrans in odore ! 420 
! quam sapidum in ore ! 


friar paul sings. 


Dulce linguae vinculum I 


In the days of gold, 




The days of old, 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


Crosier of wood 


£ should think your tongue had 


And bishop of gold ! 


broken its chain ! 






FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


friar paul sings. 


What an infernal racket and riot ! 


Felix venter quern intrabis ! 


Can you not drink your wine in 


Felix guttur quod rigabis ! 


quiet? 


Felix os quod tu lavabis ! 


Why fill the convent with such 


Et beata labia ! 


scandals, 




As if we were so many drunken 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


Vandals ? 450 


Peace ! I say, peace ! 




Will you never cease! 


friar paul continues. 


You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell 


Now we have changed 


you again! 430 


That law so good 




To crosier of gold 


FRIAR JOHN. 


And bishop of wood ! 


No danger ! to-night he will let us 




alone, 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


As I happen to know he has 


Well, then, since you are in the 


guests oi; his own. 


mood 




To give your noisy humors vent, 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


Sing and howl to your heart's con- 


Who are they ? 


tent! 


FRIAR JOHN. 


CHORUS OF MONKS. 


A German Prince and his train, 


Funde vinum, funde ! 


Who arrived here just before the 


Tanquam sint fluminis undae, 


rain. 


Nee quaeras unde, 460 


There is with him a damsel fair to 


Sed fundas semper abunde! 


see, 
As slender and graceful as a reed ! 


FRIAR JOHN. 


When she alighted from her steed, 


What is the name of yonder friar, 


It seemed like a blossom blown 


With an eye that glows like a coal 


from a tree. 


of fire, 




And such a black mass of tan- 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


gled hair ? 


None of your pale-faced girls for 




me ! 


FRIAR PAUL. 


None of your damsels of high de- 


He who is sitting there, 


gree ! 440 


With a rollicking, 




Devil may care, 


FRIAR JOHN. 


Free and easy look and air, 


Come, old fellow, drink down to 


As if he were used to such feasting 


your peg ! 


and frolicking? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



579 



FRIAR JOHN. 


Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, 


The same. 


Filling the night with woe, 




And wailing aloud to the merciless 


FRIAR PAUL. 


seas 


He 's a stranger. You had better 


The name of his sweet Heloise, 


ask his name, 470 


Whilst overhead 


And where he is going and whence 


The convent windows gleamed as 


he came. 


red 




As the fiery eyes of the monks 


FRIAR JOHN. 


within, 500 


Hallo ! Sir Friar ! 


Who with jovial din 




Gave themselves up to all kinds of 


FRIAR PAUL. 


sin! 


You must raise your voice a little 


Ha ! that is a convent ! that is an 


higher, 


abbey ! 


He does not seem to hear what 


Over the doors, 


you say. 


None of your death-heads carved 


Now, try again ! He is looking 


in wood, 


this way. 


None of your Saints looking pious 




and good, 


FRIAR JOHN. 


None of your Patriarchs old and 


Hallo ! Sir Friar, 


shabby ! 


We wish to inquire 


But the heads and tusks of boars, 


Whence you came, and where you 


And the cells 


are going, 


Hung all round with the fells 510 


And anything else that is worth 


Of the fallow-deer. 


the knowing. 


And then what cheer ! 


So be so good as to open your 


What jolly, fat friars, 


head. 480 


Sitting round the great, roaring 




fires, 


LUCIFER. 


Roaring louder than they, 


I am a Frenchman born and bred, 


With their strong wines, 


Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. 


And their concubines, 


My home 


And never a bell, 


Is the convent of St. Gildas de 


With its swagger and swell, 


Rhuys, 


Calling you up with a start of af- 


Of which, very like, you never 


fright 520 


have heard. 


In the dead of night, 




To send you grumbling down dark 


MONKS. 


stairs, 


Never a word ! 


To mumble your prayers ; 




But the cheery crow 


LUCIFER. 


Of cocks in the yard below, 


You must know, then, it is in the 


After daybreak, an hour or so, 


diocese 


And the barking of deep-mouthed 


Called the Diocese of Vannes, 


hounds, 


In the province of Brittany. 


These are the sounds 


From the gray rocks of Morbihan 


That, instead of bells, salute the 


It overlooks the angry sea ; 491 


ear. 


The very sea-shore where, 


And then all day 530 


In his great despair, 


Up and away 



580 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Through the forest, hunting the 

deer ! 
Ah, my friends ! I 'm afraid that 

here 
You are a little too pious, a little 

too tame, 
And the more is the shame. 
'T is the greatest folly 
Not to he jolly ; 
That 's what I think ! 
Come, drink, drink, 
Drink, and die game ! 540 

MONKS. 

And your Abhot What's-his- 
name? 



LUCIFER. 



Abelard ! 



MONKS. 

Did he drink hard ? 

LUCIFER. 

Oh, no ! Not he ! 

He was a dry old fellow, 

Without juice enough to get thor- 
oughly mellow. 

There he stood, 

Lowering at us in sullen mood, 

As if he had come into Brittany 

Just to reform our brotherhood ! 
A roar of laughter. 

But you see 551 

It never would do ! 

For some of us knew a thing or 
two, 

In the Abbey of St. Gildas de 
Rhuys ! 

For instance, the great ado 

With old Fulbert's niece, 

The young and lovely Heloise. 

FRIAR JOHN. 

Stop there, if you please, 

Till we drink to the fair Heloise. 

all, drinking and shouting. 

Heloise ! Heloise ! 560 

The Chapel-bell tolls. 



lucifer, starting. 

What is tbat bell for? Are you 
such asses 

As to keep up the fashion of mid- 
night masses ? 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

It is only a poor, unfortunate bro- 
ther, 

Who is gifted with most miracus, 
lous powers 

Of getting up at all sorts of hours, 

And, by way of penance and 
Christian meekness, 

Of creeping silently out of his cell 

To take a pull at that hideous 
bell ; 

So that all the monks who are 
lying awake 

May murmur some kind of prayer 
for his sake, 570 

And adapted to his peculiar weak- 
ness! 

FRIAR JOHN. 

From frailty and fall — 

ALL. 

Good Lord, deliver us all ! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

And before the bell for matins 

sounds, 
He takes his lantern, and goes the 

rounds, 
Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, 
Merely to say it is time to arise. 
But enough of that. Go on, if you 

please, 
With your story about St Gildas 

de Rhuys. 



LUCIFER. 

Well, it finally came to pass 



580 



That, half in fun and half in mal- 
ice, 

One Sunday at Mass 

We put some poison into the 
chalice. 

But, either by accident or design, 

Peter Abelard kept away 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



From the chapel that day, 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


And a poor young friar, who in his 


As St. Dunstan of old, 


stead 


We are told, 


Drank the sacramental wine, 


Once caught the Devil by the nose ! 


Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! 




But look ! do you see at the window 


LUCIFER. 


there 590 


Ha ! ha ! that story is very clever, 


That face, with a look of grief and 


But has no foundation whatso- 


despair, 


ever. 


That ghastly face, as of one in 


Quick ! for I see his face again 


pain? 


Glaring in at the window-pane ; 




Now ! now ! and do not spare your 


MONKS. 


blows. 620 


Who? where? 






friar paul opens the window 


LUCIFER. 


suddenly, and seizes Siebald. 


As I spoke, it vanished away 


They beat him. 


again. 






FRIAR SIEBALD. 


FRIAR CTJTHBERT. 


Help ! help ! are you going to slay 


It is that nefarious 


me? 


Siebald the Refectorarius. 




That fellow is always playing the 


FRIAR PAUL. 


scout, 


That will teach you again to be- 


Creeping and peeping and prowl- 


tray me ! 


ing about ; 




And then he regales 


FRIAR SIEBALD. 


The Abbot with scandalous tales. 


Mercy! mercy! 


LUCIFER. 


friar paul, shouting and beat- 


A spy in the convent? One of the 


ing. 


brothers 601 


Rumpas bellorum lorum 


Telling scandalous tales of the 


Vim confer amorum 


others ? 


Morum verorum rorum 


Out upon him, the lazy loon ! 


Tu plena polorum ! 


I would put a stop to that pretty 




soon, 


LUCIFER. 


In a way he should rue it. 


Who stands in the doorway yon- 
der, 

Stretching out his trembling hand, 


MONKS. 


How shall we do it ? 


Just as Abelard used to stand, 




The flash of his keen, black eyes 


LUCIFER. 


Forerunning the thunder? 632 


Do you, brother Paul, 




Creep under the window, close to 


the monks, in confusion. 


the wall, 


The Abbot! the Abbot! 


And open it suddenly when I call. 




Then seize the villain by the hair, 


FRIAR CUTHBERT. 


And hold him there, 61 1 


And what is the wonder ! 


And punish him soundly, once for 


He seems to have taken you by 


all. 


surprise. 



582 CHRISTUS : 


A MYSTERY 


FRIAR FRANCIS. 


Away to your prayers, then, one 


Hide the great flagon 


and all ! 


From the eyes of the dragon ! 


I wonder the very convent wall 




Does not crumble and crush you 


FRIAR CUTHBBRT. 


in its fall I 66^ 


Pull the brown hood over your 




face! 


THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY. 


This will bring us into disgrace ! 


The Abbess Irmingard sitting 


ABBOT. 


with Elsie in the moonlight. 


What means this revel and ca- 


IRMINGARD. 


rouse ? 


The night is silent, the wind is 


Is this a tavern and drinking. 


still, 


house ? 640 


The moon is looking from yonder 


Are you Christian monks, or 


hill 


heathen devils, 


Down upon convent, and grove, 


To pollute this convent with your 


and garden ; 


revels ? 


The clouds have passed away from 


Were Peter Damian still upon 


her face, 


earth, 


Leaving behind them no sorrowful 


To be shocked by such ungodly 


trace, 


mirth, 


Only the tender and quiet grace 


He would write your names, with 


Of one whose heart has been 


pen of gall, 


healed with pardon ! 


In his Book of Gomorrah, one and 




all! 


And such am I. My soul within 


Away, you drunkards ! to your 


Was dark with passion and soiled 


cells, 


with sin. 671 


And pray till you hear the matin- 


But now its wounds are healed 


bells ; 


again ; 


You, Brother Francis, and you, 


Gone are the anguish, the terror, 


Brother Paul ! 


and pain ; 


And as a penance mark each 


For across that desolate land of 


prayer 650 


woe, 


With the scourge upon your 


O'er whose burning sands I was 


shoulders bare ; 


forced to go, 


Nothing atones for such a sin 


A wind from heaven began to 


But the blood that follows the dis- 


blow; 


cipline. 


And all my being trembled and 


And you, Brother Cuthbert, come 


shook, 


with me 


As the leaves of the tree, or the 


Alone into the sacristy ; 


grass of the field, 


You, who should be a guide to 


And I was healed, as the sick are 


your brothers, 


healed, 


And are ten times worse than all 


When fanned by the leaves of the 


the others, 


Holy Book ! 680 


For you I 've a draught that has 




long been brewing, 


As thou sittest in the moonlight 


You shall do a penance worth the 


there, 


doing ! 


Its glory flooding thy golden hair, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



583 



And the only darkness that which 

lies 
In the haunted chambers of thine 

eyes, 
I feel my soul drawn unto thee, 
Strangely, and strongly, and more 

and more, 
As to one I have known and loved 

before ; 
For every soul is akin to me 
That dwells in the land of mys- 
tery ! 
I am the Lady Irmingard, 690 

Born of a noble race and name ! 
Many a wandering Suabian bard, 
Whose life was dreary, and bleak, 

and hard, 
Has found through me the way to 

fame. 

Brief and bright were those days, 

and the night 
Which followed was full of a lurid 

light. 
Love, that of every woman's heart 
Will have the whole, and not a 

part, 
That is to her, in Nature's plan, 
More than ambition is to man, 700 
Her light, her life, her very breath, 
With no alternative but death, 
Found me a maiden soft and 

young, 
Just from the convent's cloistered 

school, 
And seated on my lowly stool, 
Attentive while the minstrels sung. 

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, 
Fairest, noblest, best of all, 
Was Walter of the Vogelweid ; 
And, whatsoever may betide, 710 
Still I think of him with pride ! 
His song was of the summer-time, 
The very birds sang in his rhyme ; 
The sunshine, the delicious air, 
The fragrance of the flowers, were 

there ; 
And I grew restless as I heard, 
Restless and buoyant as a bird, 
Down soft, aerial currents sailing, 



O'er blossomed orchards, and fields 

in bloom, 
And through the momentary gloom 
Of shadows o'er the landscape 

trailing, 721 

Yielding and borne I knew not 

where, 
But feeling resistance unavailing. 

And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened to that single voice 
Until the chambers of my heart 
Were filled with it by night and 

day. 
One night, — it was a night in 

May,— 
Within the garden, unawares, 730 
Under the blossoms in the gloom, 
I heard it utter my own name 
With protestations and wild 

prayers; 
And it rang through me, and be- 
came 
Like the archangel's trump of 

doom, 
Which the soul hears, and must 

obey; 
And mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to 

me 
Such as hereafter death may be, 
When in the great Eternity 740 
We shall awake and find it day. 

It was a dream, and would not 
stay; 

A dream, that in a single night 

Faded and vanished out of sight. 

My father's anger followed fast 

This passion, as a freshening blast 

Seeks out and fans the fire, whose 
rage 

It may increase, but not assuage. 

And he exclaimed: 'No wander- 
ing bard 

Shall win thy hand, O Irmin- 
gard! 

For which Prince Henry of Hone- 
neck 751 

By messenger and letter sues.' 



584 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Gently, but firmly, I replied : 
' Henry of Hone neck I discard ! 
Never the hand of Irmingard 
Shall lie in his as the hand of a 

bride ! ' 
This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; 
This said I, for I could not choose. 
After a pause, my father spake 
In that cold and deliberate tone 
Which turns the hearer into stone, 
And seems itself the act to be 762 
That follows with such dread cer- 
tainty : 
' This or the cloister and the veil ! ' 
No other words than these he said, 
But they were like a funeral wail ; 
My life was ended, my heart was 
dead. 

That night from the castle-gate 
went down, 

With silent, slow, and stealthy 
pace, 

Two shadows, mounted on shad- 
owy steeds, 770 

Taking the narrow path that leads 

Into the forest dense and brown. 

In the leafy darkness of the place, 

One could not distinguish form nor 
face, 

Only a bulk without a shape, 

A darker shadow in the shade ; 

One scarce could say it moved or 
stayed. 

Thus it was we made our escape ! 

A foaming brook, with many a 
bound, 

Followed us like a playful hound ; 

Then leaped before us, and in the 
hollow 781 

Paused, and waited for us to fol- 
low, 

And seemed impatient, and afraid 

That our tardy flight should be be- 
trayed 

By the sound our horses' hoof- 
beats made. 

And when we reached the plain 
below, 

We paused a moment and drew 
rein 



To look back at the castle again ; 
And we saw the windows all aglow 
With lights, that were passing to 

and fro ; 790 

Our hearts with terror ceased to 

beat; 
The brook crept silent to our feet ; 
We knew what most we feared to 

know. 
Then suddenly horns began to 

blow; 
And we heard a shout, and a heavy 

tramp, 
And our horses snorted in the 

damp 
Night-air of the meadows green 

and wide, 
And in a moment, side by side, 
So close, they must have seemed 

but one, 
The shadows across the moonlight 

run, 800 

And another came, and swept be- 
hind, 
Like the shadow of clouds before 

the wind ! 

How I remember that breathless 

flight 
Across the moors, in the summer 

night ! 
How under our feet the long, white 

road 
Backward like a river flowed, 
Sweeping with it fences and 

hedges, 
Whilst farther away and over- 
head, 
Paler than I, with fear and dread, 
The moon fled with us as we fled 
Along the forest's jagged edges ! 

All this I can remember well ; 812 
But of what afterwards befell 
I nothing further can recall 
Than a blind, desperate, headlong 

fall ; 
The rest is a blank and darkness 

all. 
When I awoke out of this swoon, 
The sun was shining, not the moon 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



585 



Making a cross upon the wall 

With the bars of my windows nar- 
row and tall ; 820 

And I prayed to it, as I had been 
wont to pray, 

From early childhood, day by day, 

Each morning, as in bed I lay ! 

I was lying again in my own room ! 

And I thanked God, in my fever 
and pain, 

That those shadows on the mid- 
night plain 

Were gone, and could not come 
again ! 

I struggled no longer with my 
doom! 

This happened many years ago. 
I left my father's home to come 
Like Catherine to her martyrdom, 
For blindly I esteemed it so. 832 
And when I heard the convent 

door 
Behind me close, to ope no more, 
I felt it smite me like a blow. 
Through all my limbs a shudder 

ran, 
And on my bruised spirit fell 
The dampness of my narrow cell 
As night-air on a wounded man, 
Giving intolerable pain. 840 

But now a better life began. 

I felt the agony decrease 

By slow degrees, then wholly 

cease, 
Ending in perfect rest and peace ! 
It was not apathy, nor dulness, 
That weighed and pressed upon 

my brain, 
But the same passion I had given 
To earth before, now turned to 

heaven 
With all its overflowing fulness. 

Alas ! the world is full of peril ! 
The path that runs through the 

fairest meads, 851 

On the sunniest side of the valley, 

leads 
Into a region bleak and sterile ! 



Alike in the high-born and the 
lowly, 

The will is feeble, and passion 
strong. 

We cannot sever right from wrong ; 

Some falsehood mingles with all 
truth ; 

Nor is it strange the heart of 
youth 

Should waver and comprehend but 
slowly 

The things that are holy and un- 
holy ! 860 

But in this sacred, calm retreat, 

We are all well and safely shield- 
ed 

From winds that blow, and waves 
that beat, 

From the cold, and rain, and 
blighting heat, 

To which the strongest hearts 
have yielded. 

Here we stand as the Virgins 
Seven, 

For our celestial bridegroom yearn- 
ing; 

Our hearts are lamps forever burn- 
ing, 

With a steady and unwavering 
flame, 869 

Pointing upward, forever the same, 

Steadily upward toward the hea- 
ven! 

The moon is hidden behind a cloud ; 
A sudden darkness fills the room, 
And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, 
Shine like jewels in a shroud. 
On the leaves is a sound of falling 

rain ; 
A bird, awakened in its nest, 
Gives a faint twitter of unrest, 
Then smooths its plumes and 

sleeps again. 879 

No other sounds than these I hear ; 
The hour of midnight must be near. 
Thou art o'erspent with the day's 

fatigue 
Of riding many a dusty league ; 
Sink, then, gently to thy slumbers 
Me so many cares encumber, 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



So many ghosts, and forms of 
fright, 

Have started from their graves to- 
night, 

They have driven sleep from mine 
eyes away : 

I will go down to the chapel and 
pray. 



A COVERED BRIDGE AT LU- 
CERNE 

PRINCE HENRY. 

God's blessing on the architects 

who build 
The bridges o'er swift rivers and 

abysses 
Before impassable to human feet, 
No less than oh the builders of 

cathedrals, 
Whose massive walls are bridges 

thrown across 
The dark and terrible abyss of 

Death. 
Well has the name of Pontifex 

been given 
Unto the Church's head, as the 

chief builder 
And architect of the invisible 

bridge 
That leads from earth to heaven. 



How dark it grows ! 

What are these paintings on the 

walls around us ? n 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance Macaber ! 

ELSIE. 

What? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The Dance of Death ! 
All that go to and fro must look 

upon it. 
Mindful of what they shall be, 

while beneath, 



Among the wooden piles, the tur- 
bulent river 

Rushes, impetuous as the river of 
life, 

With dimpling eddies, ever green 
and bright, 

Save where the shadow of this 
bridge falls on it. 

ELSIE. 

Oh yes ! I see it now ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The grim musician 

Leads all men through the mazes 
of that dance, 20 

To different sounds in different 
measures moving ; 

Sometimes he plays a lute, some- 
times a drum, 

To tempt or terrify. 

ELSIE. 

What is this picture ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is a young man singing to a 

nun, 
Who kneels at her devotions, but 

in kneeling 
Turns round to look at him ; and 

Death, meanwhile, 
Is putting out the candles on the 

altar ! 

ELSIE. 

Ah, what a pity 't is that she should 
listen 

Unto such songs, when in her ori- 
sons 

She might have heard in heaven 
the angels singing ! 30' 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here he has stolen a jester's cap 

and bells, 
And dances with the Queen. 



ELSIE. 



A foolish jest? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



587 



PRINCE HENRY. 


Whither he leads. And not the 


And here the heart of the new- 


old alone, 


wedded wife, 


But the young also hear it, and 


Coming from church with her he- 


are still. 


loved lord, 




He startles with the rattle of his 


PRINCE HENRY. 


drum. 


Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is 




the sound 


ELSIE. 


Of their own hearts they hear, half 


Ah, that is sad ! And yet perhaps 


full of tears, 


't is best 


Which are like crystal cups, half 


That she should die, with all the 


filled with water, 


sunshine on her, 


Responding to the pressure of a 


And all the benedictions of the 


finger 


morning, 


With music sweet and low and 


Before this affluence of golden 


melancholy. 


light 


Let us go forward, and no longer 


Shall fade into a cold and clouded 


stay 60 


gray, 40 


In this great picture - gallery of 


Then into darkness ! 


Death ! 




I hate it ! ay, the very thought of 


PRINCE HENRY. 


it! 


Under it is written, 




' Nothing but death shall separate 


ELSIE. 


thee and me ! ' 


Why is it hateful to you? 


ELSIE. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


And what is this, that follows close 


For the reason 


upon it? 


That life, and all that speaks of 




life, is lovely, 


PRINCE HENRY. 


And death, and all that speaks of 


Death, playing on a dulcimer. Be- 


death, is hateful. 


hind him, 




A poor old woman, with a ros- 


ELSIE. 


ary, 


The grave itself is but a covered 


Follows the sound, and seems to 


bridge, 


wish her feet 


Leading from light to light, through 


"Were swifter to o'ertake him. 


a brief darkness ! 


Underneath, 




The inscription reads, 'Better is 


PRINCE henry, emerging from 


Death than Life.' 


the bridge. 




I breathe again more freely ! Ah, 


ELSIE. 


how pleasant 


Better is Death than Life ! Ah 


To come once more into the light 


yes ! to thousands 


of day, 


Death plays upon a dulcimer, and 


Out of that shadow of death ! To 


sings 50 


hear again 70 


That song of consolation, till the 


The hoof-beats of our horses on 


air 


firm ground, 


Rings with it, and they cannot 


And not upon those hollow planks, 


choose but follow ♦ 


resounding 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



With a sepulchral echo, like the 
clods 

On coffins in a churchyard ! Yon- 
der lies 

The Lake of the Four Forest- 
Towns, apparelled 

In light, and lingering, like a vil- 
lage maiden, 

Hid in the bosom of her native 
mountains, 

Then pouring all her life into 
another's, 

Changing her name and being! 
Overhead, 

Shaking his cloudy tresses loose 
in air, 80 

Kises Pilatus, with his windy 
pines. 

They pass on. 

THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. 

Prince Henry and Elsie cross- 
ing with attendants. 



This bridge is called the Devil's 

Bridge. 
With a single arch, from ridge to 

ridge, 
It leaps across the terrible chasm 
Yawning beneath us, black and 

deep, 
As if, in some convulsive spasm, 
The summits of the hills had 

cracked, 
And made a road for the cataract 
That raves and rages down the 

steep ! 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! go 

GUIDE. 

Never any bridge but this 
Could stand across the wild abyss; 
All the rest, of wood or stone, 
By the Devil's hand were over- 
thrown. 
He toppled crags from the preci- 
pice, 



And whatsoe'er was built by day 
In the night was swept away ; 
None could stand but this alone. 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha ! ha ! 

GUIDE. 

I showed you in the valley a bowl- 

der 100 

Marked with the imprint of his 

shoulder ; 
As he was bearing it up this 

way, 
A peasant, passing, cried, 'Herr 

Je!» 
And the Devil dropped it in his 

fright, 
And vanished suddenly out of 

sight ! 

lucifer under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! 

GUIDE. 

Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, 
For pilgrims on their way to Eome, 
Built this at last, with a single 

arch, 109 

Under which, on its endless march, 
Kuns the river, white with foam, 
Like a thread through the eye of a 

needle. 
And the Devil promised to let it 

stand, 
Under compact and condition 
That the first living thing which 

crossed 
Should be surrendered into his 

hand, 
And be beyond redemption lost. 

lucifer, under the bridge. 
Ha! ha! perdition! 

GUIDE. 

At length, the bridge being all 

completed, 
The Abbot, standing at its head, 120 
Threw across it a loaf of bread, 
Which# hungry dog sprang after, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



589 



A.nd the rocks reechoed with the 


Bear thee across these chasms and 


peals of laughter 


precipices, 


To see the Devil thus defeated ! 


Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet 


They pass on. 


against a stone ! 


lucifer, under the bridge. 


ELSIE. 


Ha ! ha ! defeated ! 


Would I were borne unto my grave, 


For journeys aud for crimes like 


as she was, 


this 


Upon angelic shoulders! Even 


I let the bridge stand o'er the 


now 


abyss ! 


I seem uplifted by them, light as 

air! 
What sound is that ? 




THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. 






PRINCE HENRY. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


The tumbling avalanches « 


This is the highest point. Two 




ways the rivers 


ELSIE. 


Leap down to different seas, and 


How awful, yet how beautiful ! 


as they roll 




Grow deep and still, and their ma- 


PRINCE HENRY. 


jestic presence 130 


These are 


Becomes a benefaction to the 


The voices of the mountains ! 


towns 


Thus they ope 


They visit, wandering silently 


Their snowy lips, and speak unto 


among them, 


each other, 150 


Like patriarchs old among their 


In the primeval language, lost to 


shining tents. 


man. 


ELSIE. 


ELSIE. 


How bleak and bare it is! No- 


What land is this that spreads it- 


thing but mosses 


self beneath us ? 


Grow on these rocks. 






PRINCE HENRY. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


Italy! Italy! 


Yet are they not forgotten ; 




Beneficent Nature sends the mists 


ELSIE. 


to feed them. 


Land of the Madonna ! 




How beautiful it is ! It seems a 


ELSIE. 


garden 


See yonder little cloud, that, borne 


Of Paradise ! 


* aloft 




So tenderly by the wind, floats 


PRINCE HENRY. 


fast away 


Nay, of Gethsemane 


Over the snowy peaks ! It seems 


To thee and me, of passion and of 


to me 


prayer ! 


The body of St. Catherine, borne 


Yet once of Paradise. Long years 


by angels ! 140 


ago 




I wandered as a youth among its 


PRINCE HENRY. 


bowers, 


Thou art St. Catherine, and invisi- 


And never from my heart has 


ble angels 


. faded quite 



59° 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Its memory, that, like a summer 
sunset, 1 60 

Encircles with a ring of purple 
light 

All the horizon of my youth. 

GUIDE. 

O friends ! 
The days are short, the way before 

us long ; 
We must not linger, if we think to 

reach 
The inn at Belinzona before ves- 
pers! 

They pass on. 



AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. 

A halt under the trees at noon. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Here let us pause a moment in the 
trembling 

Shadow and sunshine of the road- 
side trees, 

And, out tired horses in a group 
assembling, 

Inhale long draughts of this de- 
licious breeze. 

Our fleeter steeds have distanced 
our attendants ; 170 

They lag behind us with a slower 
pace; 

We will await . them under the 
green pendants 

Of the great willows in this shady 
place. 

Ho, Barbarossa ! how thy mottled 
haunches 

Sweat with this canter over hill 
and glade ! 

Stand still, and let these overhang- 
ing branches 

Fan thy hot sides and comfort 
thee with shade ! 

ELSIE. 

What a delightful landscape 
spreads before us, 

Marked with a whitewashed cot- 
tage here and there ! 



And, in luxuriant garlands droop- 
ing o'er us, 180 

Blossoms of grape-vines scent the 
sunny air ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Hark! what sweet sounds are 
those, whose accents holy 

Fill the warm noon with music sad 
and sweet ! 

ELSIE. 

It is a band of pilgrims, moving 
slowly 

On their long journey, with uncov- 
ered feet. 

pilgrims, chanting the Hymn of 
St. midebert. 
Me receptet Sion ilia, 
Sion David, urbs tranquilla, 
Cujus faber auctor lucis, 
Cuius portge lignum crucis, 
Cujus claves lingua Petri, 190 
Cujus cives semper laeti, 
Cujus muri lapis vivus, 
Cujus custos Hex festivus ! 

lucifer, as a Friar in the pro- 
cession. 

Here am I, too, in the pious band, 

In the garb of a barefooted Car- 
melite dressed! 

The soles of my feet are as hard 
and tanned 

As the conscience of old Pope 
Hildebrand, 

The Holy Satan, who made the 
wives 

Of the bishops lead such shameful 
lives. 

All day long I beat my breast, 200 

And chant with a most particular 
zest 

The Latin hymns, which I under- 
stand 

Quite as well, I think, as the rest. 

And at night such lodging in barns 
and sheds, 

Such a hurly-burly in country inns 

Such a clatter of tongues in empty 
heads, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



591 



Such a helter-skelter of prayers 


Were it not for my magic garters 


and sins ! 


and staff, 


Of all the contrivances of the time 


And the goblets of goodly wine I 


For sowing broadcast the seeds of 


quaff, 


crime, 


And the mischief I make in the 


There is none so pleasing to me 


idle throng, 


and mine 210 


I should not continue the business 


As a pilgrimage to some far-off 


long. 


shrine 1 






pilgrims, chanting. 


PRINCE HENRY. 


In hac urbe, lux solennis, 


If from the outward man we judge 


Ver seternum, pax perennis; 


the inner, 


In hac odor implens cselos, 240 


And cleanliness is godliness, I 

fear 
A hopeless reprobate, a hardened 


In hac semper festum melos! 


PRINCE HENRY. 


sinner, 


Do you observe that monk among 


Must be that' Carmelite now pass- 


the train, 


ing near. 


Who pours from his great throat 



LUCIFER. 

There is my German Prince again, 

Thus far on his journey to Salern, 

And the lovesick girl, whose heated 
brain 

Is sowing the cloud to reap the 
rain ; 

But it 's a long road that has no 
turn ! 220 

Let them quietly hold their way, 

I have also a part in the play. 

But first I must act to my heart's 
content 

This mummery and this merri- 
ment, 

And drive this motley flock of 
sheep 

Into the fold, where drink and 
sleep 

The jolly old friars of Benevent. 

Of a truth, it often provokes me to 
laugh 

To see these beggars hobble along, 

Lamed and maimed, and fed upon 
chaff, 230 

Chanting their wonderful piff and 
paff, 

And, to make up for not under- 
standing the song, 

Singing it fiercely, and wild, and 
strong 1 



the roaring bass. 
As a cathedral spout pours out the 

rain, 
And this way turns his rubicund, 

round face ? 

ELSIE. 

It is the same who, on the Stras- 

burg square, 
Preached to the people in the open 

air. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

And he has crossed o'er mountain, 
field, and fell, 

On that good steed, that seems to 
bear him well, 

The hackney of the Friars of Or- 
ders Gray, 250 

His own stout legs ! He, too, was 
in the play, 

Both as King Herod and Ben Is- 
rael. 

Good morrow, Friar ! 

FRIAR CUTHKERT. 

Good morrow, noble Sir' 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I speak in German, for, unless I 

err, 
You are a German. 



592 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

I cannot gainsay you. 

But by what instinct, or what se- 
cret sign, 

Meeting me here, do you straight- 
way divine 

That northward of the Alps my 
country lies ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Your accent, like St. Peter's, would 

betray you, 
Did not your yellow beard and 

your blue eyes. 260 

Moreover, we have seen your face 

before, 
And heard you preach at the 

Cathedral door 
On Easter Sunday, in the Stras- 

burg square. 
We were among the crowd that 

gathered there, 
And saw you play the Eabbi with 

great skill, 
As if, by leaning o'er so many 

years 
To walk with little children, your 

own will 
Had caught a childish attitude 

from theirs, 
A kind of stooping in its form and 

gait, 
And could no longer stand erect 

and straight. 270 

Whence come you now? 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

From the old monastery 
Of Hirschau, in the forest ; being 

sent 
Upon a pilgrimage to Bene vent, 
To see the image of the Virgin 

Mary, 
That moves its holy eyes, and 

sometimes speaks, 
And lets the piteous tears run 

down its cheeks, 
To touch the hearts of the impen- 
itent. 



PRINCE HENRY. 

Oh, had I faith, as in the days 

gone by, 
That knew no doubt, and feared 

no mystery I 

LUCIFER, at a distance. 
Ho, Cuthbert ! Friar Cuthbert! 

FRIAR CUTHBERT. 

Farewell, Prince ! 
I cannot stay to argue and con- 
vince. 281 

PRINCE HENRY. 

This is indeed the blessed Mary's 
land, 

Virgin and Mother of our dear 
Kedeemer ! 

All hearts are touched and soft- 
ened at her name, 

Alike the bandit, with the bloody 
hand, 

The priest, the prince, the scholar, 
and the peasant, 

The man of deeds, the visionary 
dreamer, 

Pay homage to her as one ever 
present! 

And even as children, who have 
much offended 

A too indulgent father, in great 
shame, 290 

Penitent, and yet not daring unat- 
tended 

To go into his presence, at the gate 

Speak with their sister, and confid- 
ing wait 

Till she goes in before and inter- 
cedes; 

So men, repenting of their evil 
deeds, 

And yet not venturing rashly to 
draw near 

With their requests an angry fa- 
ther's ear, 

Offer to her their prayers and their 
confession, 

And she for them, in heaven makes 
intercession. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



593 



And if. our Faith had given us no- 
thing more 300 

Than this example of all woman- 
hood, 

80 mild, so merciful, so strong, so 
good, 

So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, 
pure, 

This were enough to prove it 
higher and truer 

Than all the creeds the world had 
known before. 

pilgrims, chanting afar off. 
Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, 
Supra petram collocata, 
Urbs in portu satis tuto 
De longinquo te saluto, 
Te saluto, te suspiro, 3 10 

Te aff ecto, te requiro ! 



THE INN AT GENOA. 

A terrace overlooking the sea. 
Night. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It is the sea, it is the sea, 
In all its vague immensity, 
Fading and darkening in the dis- 
tance ! 
Silent, majestical, and slow, 
The white ships haunt it to and 

fro, 
With all their ghostly sails un- 
furled, 
As phantoms from another world 
Haunt the dim confines of exist- 
ence ! 
But ah! how few can compre- 
hend 320 
Their signals, or to what good 

end 
From land to land they come and 

go 1 
Upon a sea more vast and dark 
The spirits of the dead embark, 
All voyaging to unknown coasts. 
We wave our farewells from the 
shore. 



And they depart, and come no 

more, 
Or come as phantoms and as 

ghosts. 

Above the darksome sea of death 
Looms the great life that is t6 

be, 330 

A land of cloud and mystery, 
A dim mirage, with shapes of men 
Long dead, and passed beyond our 

ken. 
Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our 

breath 
Till the fair pageant vanisheth, 
Leaving us in perplexity, 
And doubtful whether it has been 
A vision of the world unseen, 
Or a bright image of our own 
Against the sky in vapors thrown. 

LUCIFER, singing from the sea. 

Thou didst not make it, thou canst 
not mend it, 341 

But thou hast the power to end it ! 

The sea is silent, the sea is dis- 
creet, 

Deep it lies at thy very feet ; 

There is no confessor like unto 
Death ! 

Thou canst not see him, but he is 
near; 

Thou needst not whisper above 
thy breath, 

And he will hear ; 

He will answer the questions, 

The vague surmises and sugges- 
tions, 350 

That fill thy soul with doubt and 
fear ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

The fisherman, who lies afloat, 
With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, 
Is singing softly to the Night ! 
But do I comprehend aright 
The meaning of the words he sung 
So sweetly in his native tongue ? 
Ah yes ! the sea is still and deep. 
All things within its bosom sleep ! 
A single step, and all is o'er ; 360 



594 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A plunge, a bubble, and no more ; 
And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be 

free 
From martyrdom and agony. 

elsie, coming from her chamber 

upon the terrace. 
The night is calm and cloudless, 
And still as still can be, 
And the stars come forth to lis- 
ten 
To the music of the sea. 
They gather, and gather, and 

gather, 
Until they crowd the sky, 
And listen, in breathless si- 
lence, 370 
To the solemn litany. 
It begins in rocky caverns, 
As a voice that chants alone 
To the pedals of the organ 
In monotonous undertone ; 
And anon from shelving beaches, 
And shallow sands beyond, 
In snow-white robes uprising 
The ghostly choirs respond. 
And sadly and unceasing 380 
The mournful voice sings on, 
And the snow-white choirs still 

answer 
Christe eleison ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Angel of God ! thy finer sense per- 
ceives 

Celestial and perpetual harmo- 
nies ! 

Thy purer soul, that trembles and 
believes. 

Hears the archangel's trumpet in 
the breeze, 

And where the forest rolls, or 
ocean heaves, 

Cecilia's organ sounding in the 
seas, 

And tongues of prophets speaking 
in the leaves. 390 

But I hear discord only and de- 
spair, 

A.nd whispers as of demons in the 
air! 



IL PADRONE. 

The wind upon our quarter lies. 

And on before the freshening gale^ 

That fills the snow-white lateen 
sail, 

Swiftly our light felucca flies. 

Around, the billows burst and 
foam ; 

They lift her o'er the sunken rock, 

They beat her sides with many a 
shock, 

And then upon their flowing dome 

They poise her, like a weather- 
cock! 401 

Between us and the western skies 

The hills of Corsica arise ; 

Eastward, in yonder long blue line, 

The summits of the Apennine, 

And southward, and still far away, 

Salerno, on its sunny bay. 

You cannot see it, where it lies. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Ah, would that never more mind 

eyes 
Might see its towers by night or 

day! 410 

ELSIE. 

Behind us, dark and awfully, 
There comes a cloud out of the 

sea, 
That bears the form of a hunted 

deer, 
With hide of brown, and hoofs of 

black, 
And antlers laid upon its back, 
And fleeing fast and wild with 

fear, 
As if the hoiands were on its track I 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Lo ! while we gaze, it breaks and 
falls 41S 

In shapeless masses, like the walls 
Of a burnt city. Broad and red 
The fires of the descending sun 
Glare through the windows, and 
o'erhead, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



595 



Athwart the vapors, dense and 

dun, 
Long shafts of silvery light arise, 
Like rafters that support the 

skies ! 

ELSIE. 

See! from its summit the lurid 
levin 

Flashes downward without warn- 
ing, 

As Lucifer, son of the morning, 

Fell from the battlements of hea- 
ven! 

IL PADEONE, 

I must entreat you, friends, be- 
low! 430 

The angry storm begins to blow, 

For the weather changes with the 
moon. 

All this morning, until noon, 

We had baffling winds, and sudden 
flaws 

Struck the sea with their cat's- 
paws. 

Only a little hour ago 

I was whistling to Saint Antonio 

For a capful of wind to fill our 
sail, 

And instead of a breeze he has 
sent a gale. 

Last night I saw Saint Elmo's 
stars, 440 

With their glimmering lanterns, 
all at play 

On the tops of the masts and the 
tips of the spars, 

And I knew we should have foul 
weather to-day. 

Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave 
ho! 

Brail up the mainsail, and let her 
go 

As the winds will and Saint An- 
tonio ! 

Do you see that Livornese felucca, 
That vessel to the windward yon- 
der, 
Running with her gunwale under ? 



I was looking when the wind o'er- 

took her. 450 

She had all sail set, and the only 

wonder 
Is that at once the strength of the 

blast 
Did not carry away her mast. 
She is a galley of the Gran Duca, 
That, through the fear of the Al- 

gerines, 
Convoys those lazy brigantines, 
Laden with wine and oil from 

Lucca. 
Now all is ready, high and low : 
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio ! 

Ha! that is the first dash of the 
rain, 460 

With a sprinkle of spray above the 
rails, 

Just enough to moisten our sails, 

And make them ready for the 
strain. 

See how she leaps, as the blasts 
o'ertake her, 

And speeds away with a bone in 
her mouth ! 

Now keep her head toward the 
south, 

And there is no danger of bank or 
breaker. 

With the breeze behind us, on we 
go; 

Not too much, good Saint An- 
tonio ! 



VI 

THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO 

A travelling Scholastic affixing 
his Theses to the gate of the Col- 
lege. 

SCHOLASTIC. 

There, that is my gauntlet, my 
banner, my shield, 

Hung up as a challenge to all the 
field! 

One hundred and twenty-five pro- 
positions, 



596 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



Which I will maintain with the 


And therein he contradicteth him- 


sword of the tongue 


self ; 30 


Against all disputants, old and 


For he opens the whole discussion 


young. 


by stating, 


Let us see if doctors or dialecti- 


That God can only exist in cre- 


cians 


ating. 


Will dare to dispute my defini- 


That question I think I have laid 


tions, 


on the shelf ! 


Or attack any one of my learned 




theses. 


He goes out. Two Doctors come in 


Here stand I ; the end shall he as 


disputing, and followed by pu~ 


God pleases. 


pits. 


I think I have proved, by profound 




researches, 10 


DOCTOR SERAFINO. 


The error of all those doctrines so 


I, with the Doctor Seraphic, main- 


vicious 


tain, 


Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, 


That a word which is only con- 


That are making such terrible 


ceived in the brain 


work in the churches, 


Is a type of eternal Generation ; 


By Michael the Stammerer sent 


The spoken word is the Incarna- 


from the East, 


tion. 


And done into Latin by that Scot- 




tish beast, 


DOCTOR CHERITBINO. 


Johannes Duns Scotus, who dares 


What do I care for the Doctor 


to maintain, 


Seraphic, 


In the face of the truth, the error 


With all his wordy chaffer and 


infernal, 


traffic ? 


That the universe is and must be 




eternal ; 


DOCTOR SERAFINO. 


At first laying down, as a fact fun- 


You make but a paltry show of re- 


damental, 


sistance ; 40 


That nothing with God can be ac- 


Universals have no real existence ! 


cidental ; 20 




Then asserting that God before 


DOCTOR CHERUBINO. 


the creation 


Your words are but idle and empty 


Could not have existed, because it 


chatter ; 


is plain 


Ideas are eternally joined to mat- 


That, had He existed, He would 


ter! 


have created ; 




Which is begging the question 


DOCTOR SERAFINO. 


that should be debated, 


May the Lord have mercy on your 


And moveth me less to anger than 


position, 


laughter. 


You wretched, wrangling culler of 


All nature, he holds, is a respira- 


herbs ! 


tion 




Of the Spirit of God, who, in breath- 


DOCTOR CHERTJBINO. 


ing, hereafter 


May he send your soul to eternal 


Will inhale it into his bosom again, 


perdition, 


So that nothing but God alone will 


For your Treatise on the Irregular 


remain. 


Verbs l 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



597 



They rush out fighting. 
Scholars come in. 



Two 



FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Monte Cassino, then, is your Col- 
lege. 

What think you of ours here at 
Salem ? 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

To tell the truth, I arrived so 
lately, 50 

I hardly yet have had time to dis- 
cern. 

So much, at least, I am bound to 
acknowledge : 

The air seems healthy, the build- 
ings stately, 

And on the whole I like it greatly. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Yes, the air is sweet; the Cala- 

brian hills 
Send us down puffs of mountain 

air; 
And in summer-time the sea-breeze 

fills 
With its coolness cloister, and 

court, and square. 
Then at every season of the year 
There are crowds of guests and 

travellers here ; 60 

Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, 

and traders 
From the Levant, with figs and 

wine, 
And bands of wounded and sick 

Crusaders, 
Coming back from Palestine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

And what are the studies you pur- 
sue? 

What is the course you here go 
through ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

The first three years of the college 

course 
Are given to Logic alone, as the 

source 



Of all that is noble, and wise, and 
true. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

That seems rather strange, I must 
confess, 70 

In a Medical School; yet, never- 
theless, 

You doubtless have reasons for 
that. 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Oh yes ! 
For none but a clever dialectician 
Can hope to become a great physi- 
cian; 
That has been settled long ago. 
Logic makes an important part 
Of the mystery of the healing art ; 
For without it how could you hope 

to show 
That nobody knows so much as 

you know ? 
After this there are five years 
more 80 

Devoted wholly to medicine, 
With lectures on chirurgical lore, 
And dissections of the bodies of 

swine, 
As likest the human form divine. 

SECOND SCHOLAR. 

What are the books now most in 
vogue ? 

FIRST SCHOLAR. 

Quite an extensive catalogue ; 
Mostly, however, books of our 

own; 
As Gariopontus' Passionarius, 
And the writings of Matthew Pla- 

tearius ; 
And a volume universally 

known go 

As the Eegimen of the School of 

Salern, 
For Robert of Normandy written 

in terse 
And very elegant Latin verse. 
Each of these writings has its 

turn. 



598 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And when at length we have fin- 
ished these, 

Then comes the struggle for de- 
grees, 

With all the oldest and ablest 
critics ; 

The public thesis and disputation, 

Question, and answer, and expla- 
nation 

Of a passage out of Hippocra- 
tes, IOO 

Or Aristotle's Analytics. 

There the triumphant Magister 
stands ! 

A book is solemnly placed in his 
hands, 

On which he swears to follow the 
rule 

And ancient forms of the good old 
School ; 

To report if any. confectionarius 

Mingles his drugs with matters 
various, 

And to visit his patients twice a 
day, 

And once in the night, if they live 
in town, 

And if they are poor, to take no 
pay, 1 10 

Having faithfully promised these, 

His head is crowned with a laurel 
crown ; 

A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his 
hand, 

The Magister Artium et Physices 

Goes forth from the school like a 
lord of the land. 

And now, as we have the whole 
morning before us, 

Let us go in, if you make no ob- 
jection, 

And listen awhile to a learned 
prelection 

On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. 

They go in. Enter Lucifer as a 
Doctor. 

LUCIFEK. 

This is the great School of 
Salern ! 120 



A land of wrangling and of quar- 
rels, 

Of brains that seethe, and hearts 
that burn, 

Where every emulous scholar 
* hears, 

In every breath that comes to his 
ears, 

The rustling of another's lau- 
rels! 

The air of the place is called salu- 
brious ; 

The neighborhood of Vesuvius 
lends it 

An odor volcanic, that rather 
mends it, 

And the buildings have an aspect 
lugubrious, 

That inspires a feeling of awe and 
terror 130 

Into the heart of the beholder, 

And befits such an ancient home- 
stead of error, 

Where tbe old falsehoods moulder 
and smoulder, 

And yearly by many hundred 
hands 

Are carried away, in the zeal of 
youth, 

And sown like tares in the field 
of truth, 

To blossom and ripen in other 
lands. 

What have we here, affixed to the 

gate? 
The challenge of some scholastic 

wight, 

Who wishes to hold a public de- 
bate 140 
On sundry questions wrong or 

right ! 
Ah, now this is my great delight ! 
For I have often observed of late 
That such discussions end in a 

fight. 
Let us see what the learned wag 

maintains 
With such a prodigal waste of 

brains. 

Beads. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



599 



'Whether angels in moving from 


After all my restless endeavor, 


place to place 


The youngest, fairest soul of the 


Pass through the intermediate 


twain, 


space. 


The most ethereal, most divine, 


Whether God himself is the author 


Will escape from my hands for 


of evil, 


ever and ever. 


Or whether that is the work of the 


But the other is already mine ! 


Devil. 150 


Let him live to corrupt his race, 


When, where, and wherefore Luci- 


Breathing among them, with every 


fer fell, 


breath, 


And whether he now is chained in 


Weakness, selfishness, and the 


hell.' 


base 180 


I think I can answer that ques- 


And pusillanimous fear of death. 


tion well ! 


I know his nature, and I know 


So long as the hoastful human 


That of all who in my ministry 


mind 


Wander the great earth to and fro, 


Consents in such mills as this to 


And on my errands come and go, 


grind, 


The safest and subtlest are such 


I sit very firmly upon my throne ! 


as he. 


Of a truth it almost makes me 




laugh, 


Enter Prince Henry and 


To see men leaving the golden 


Elsie, with attendants. 


grain 
To gather in piles the pitiful chaff 


PRINCE HENRY. 


That old Peter Lombard thrashed 


Can you direct us to Friar An- 


with his brain, 160 


gelo? 


To have it caught up and tossed 




again 


LUCIFER. 


On the horns of the Dumb Ox of 


He stands before you. 


Cologne ! 






PRINCE HENRY. 


But my guests approach ! there is 


Then you know our purpose. 


in the air 


I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 


A fragrance, like that of the Beau- 


and this 


tiful Garden 


The maiden that I spake of in my 


Of Paradise, in the days that 


letters. 190 


were ! 
An odor of innocence and of 


LUCIFER. 


prayer, 


It is a very grave and solemn 


And of love, and faith that never 


business ! 


fails, 


We must not be precipitate. Does 


Such as the fresh young heart ex- 


she 


hales 


Without compulsion, of her own 


Before it begins to wither and 


free will, 


harden ! 


Consent to this ? 


I cannot breathe such an atmo- 




sphere! 170 


PRINCE HENRY. 


My soul is filled with a nameless 


Against all opposition, 


fear, 


Against all prayers, entreaties, 


That, after all my trouble and 


protestations. 


pain, 


She will not be persuaded. 



6oo 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



LUCIFER. 

That is strange ! 
Have you thought well of it? 

ELSIE. 

I come not here 

To argue, but to die. Your busi- 
ness is not 

To question, but to kill me. I am 
ready. 

I am impatient to be gone from 
here 200 

Ere any thoughts of earth disturb 



The spirit of tranquillity within 
me. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Would I had not come here! 

Would I were dead, 
And thou wert in thy cottage in 

the forest, 
And hadst not known me ! Why 

have I done this ? 
Let me go back and die. 

ELSIE. 

It cannot be ; 
Not if these cold, flat stones on 

which we tread 
Were coulters heated white, and 

yonder gateway 
Flamed like a furnace with a 

sevenfold heat. 
I must fulfil my purpose. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

I forbid it I 
Not one step further. For I only 

meant 211 

To put thus far thy courage to the 

proof. 
It is enough. I, too, have strength 

to die, 
For thou hast taught me ! 

ELSIE. 

O my Prince ! remember 
Your promises. Let me fulfil my 
errand. 



You do not look on life and death 
as I do. 

There are two angels, that attend 
unseen 

Each one of us, and in great books 
record 

Our good and evil deeds. He who 
writes down 

The good ones, after every action 
closes 220 

His volume, and ascends with it to 
God. 

The other keeps his dreadful day- 
book open 

Till sunset, that we may repent ; 
which doing, 

The record of the action fades 
away, 

And leaves a line of white across 
the page. 

Now if my act be good, as I be- 
lieve, 

It cannot be recalled. It is al- 
ready 

Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed 
accomplished. 

The rest is yours. Why wait you ? 
I am ready. 

To her attendants. 

Weep not, my friends! rather re. 

joice with me. 23a 

I shall not feel the pain, but shall 

be gone, 
And you will have another friend 

in heaven. 
Then start not at the creaking of 

the door 
Through which I pass. I see 

what lies beyond it. 

To Prince Henry. 

And you, O Prince ! bear back my 

benison 
Unto my father's house, and all 

within it. 
This morning in the church I 

prayed for them, 
After confession, after absolution, 
When my whole soul was white, I 

prayed for them. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



6oi 



God will take care of them, they 

need me not. 240 

And in your life let my remem- 
brance linger, 
As something not to trouble and 

disturb it, 
But to complete it, adding life to 

life. 
And if at times beside the evening 

fire 
You see my face among the other 

faces. 
Let it not be regarded as a ghost 
That haunts your house, but as a 

guest that loves you. 
Nay, even as one of your own 

family, 
Without whose presence there 

were something wanting. 
I have no more to say. Let us go 

in. 250 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Friar Angelo ! I charge you on 

your life, 
Believe not what she says, for she 

is mad, 
And comes here not to die, but to 

be healed. 

ELSIE. 

Alas ! Prince Henry ! 

LUCIFER. 

Come with me ; this way. 

Elsie goes in with Lucifer, who 
thrusts Prince Henry back 
and closes the door. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Gone ! and the light of all my life 

gone with her ! 
A sudden darkness falls upon the 

world ! 
Oh, what a vile and abject thing 

am I 
That purchase length of days at 

such a cost ! 
Not by her death alone, but by the 

death 



Of all that's good and true and 
noble in me ! 260 

All manhood, excellence, and self- 
respect, 

All love, and faith, and hope, and 
heart are dead ! 

All my divine nobility of nature 

By this one act is forfeited forever. 

I am a Prince in nothing but in 
name ! 

To the attendants. 

Why did you let this horrible deed 

be done? 
Why did you not lay hold on her, 

and keep her 
From self-destruction? Angelo! 

murderer ! 
Struggles at the door, but cannot 
open it. 

elsie, within. 
Farewell, dear Prince ! farewell ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Unbar the door ! 



It is too late ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

It shall not be too late ! 

They burst the door open and 
rush in. 



THE FARM-HOUSE IN THE 
ODENWALD. 

Ursula spinning. A summer 
afternoon. A table spread. 

URSULA. 

I have marked it well, — it must 
be true,— 271 

Death, never takes one alone, but 
two! 

Whenever he enters in at a door, 

Under roof of gold or roof of 
thatch, 

He always leaves it upon the latch* 



602 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And comes again ere the year is 

o'er. 
Never one of a household only ! 
Perhaps it is a mercy of God, 
Lest the dead there under the sod, 
In the land of strangers, should he 

lonely ! 280 

Ah me ! I think I am lonelier 

here ! 
It is hard to go, — but harder to 

stay! 
Were it not for the children, I 

should pray 
That Death would take me within 

the year! 
And Gottlieb ! — he is at work all 

day, 
In the sunny field, or the forest 

murk, 
But I know that his thoughts are 

far away, 
I know that his heart is not in his 

work ! 
And when he comes home to me 

at night 
He is not cheery, but sits and 

sighs, • 290 

And I see the great tears in his 

eyes, 
And try to be cheerful for his sake. 
Only the children's hearts are 

light. 
Mine is weary, and ready to break. 
God help us ! I hope we have 

done right ; 
We thought we were acting for the 

best! 

Looking through the open door. 

Who is it coming under the trees ? 
A man, in the Prince's livery 

dressed ! 
He looks about him with doubtful 

face, 
As if uncertain of the place. 300 
He stops at the beehives ; — now 

he sees 
The garden gate; — he is going 

past! 
Can he be afraid of the bees ? 
No ; he is coming in at last ! 



He fills my heart with strango 
alarm ! 

Enter a Forester. 



FORESTER. 

Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm ? 

URSULA. 

This is his farm, and I his wife. 
Pray sit. What may your busi- 
ness be ! 

FORESTER. 

News from the Prince ! 

URSULA. 

Of death or life? 

FORESTER. 

You put your questions eagerly ! 



Answer me, then! How is the 
Prince? 311 

FORESTER. 

I left him only two hours since 
Homeward returning down the 

river, 
As strong and well as if God, the 

Giver, 
Had given him back his youth 

again. 

Ursula, despairing. 
Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead ! 

FORESTER. 

That, my good woman, I have not 

said. 
Don't cross the bridge till you 

come to it, 
Is a proverb old, and of excellent 

wit. 

URSULA. 

Keep me no longer in this pain ! 320 

FORESTER. 

It is true your daughter is no 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



603 



That is, the peasant she was be- 
fore. 

URSULA. 

Alas ! I am simple and lowly bred, 

I am poor, distracted, and for- 
lorn. 

And it is not well that you of the 
court 

Should mock me thus, and make a 
sport 

Of a joyless mother whose child is 
dead, 

For you, too, were of mother born 5 

FORESTER. 

Your daughter lives, and the 

Prince is well ! 
You will learn erelong how it all 

befell. 330 

Her heart for a moment never 

failed ; 
But when they reached Salerno's 

gate, 
The Prince's nobler self prevailed, 
And saved her for a noble fate. 
And he was healed, in his de- 
spair, 
By the touch of St. Matthew's 

sacred bones ; 
Though I think the long ride in 

the open air, 
That pilgrimage over stocks and 

stones, 
In the miracle must come in for a 

share ! 

URSULA. 

Virgin! who lovest the poor and 

lowly, 340 

If the loud cry of a mother's heart 
Can ever ascend to where thou 

art, 
Into thy blessed hands and holy 
Receive my prayer of praise and 

thanksgiving ! 
Let the hands that bore our 

Saviour bear it 
Into the awful presence of God ; 
"For thy feet with holiness are 

shod, 



And if thou bearest it He will hear 

it. 
Our child who was dead again is 

living ! 

FORESTER. 

I did not tell you she was dead ; 350 
If you thought so 't was no fault of 

mine ; 
At this very moment, while I 

speak, 
They are sailing homeward down 

the Ehine, 
In a splendid barge, with golden 

prow, 
And decked with banners white 

and red 
As the colors on your daughter's 

cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia 

now; 
For the Prince in Salerno made a 

vow 
That Elsie only would he wed. 

URSULA. 

Jesu Maria ! what a change ! 360 
All seems to me so weird and 
strange ! 

FORESTER. 

I saw her standing on the deck, 
Beneath an awning cool and 

shady ; 
Her cap of velvet could not hold 
The tresses of her hair of gold, 
That flowed and floated like the 

stream, 
And fell in masses down her neck. 
As fair and lovely did she seem 
As in a story or a dream 
Some beautiful and foreign lady. 
And the Prince looked so grand 

and proud, 371 

And waved his hand thus to the 

crowd 
That gazed and shouted from the 

shore, 
All down the river, long and 

loud. 



604 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



URSULA. 

We shall behold our child once 

more; 
She is not dead ! She is not dead ! 
God, listening, must have over- 
heard 
The prayers, that, without sound 

or word, 
Our hearts in secrecy have said ! 
Oh, bring me to her ; for mine 

eyes 380 

Are hungry to behold her face ; 
My very soul within me cries ; 
My very hands seem to caress 

her, 
To see her, gaze at her, and bless 

her; 
Dear Elsie, child of God and 

grace ! 

Goes out toward the garden. 

FORESTER. 

There goes the good woman out 

of her head ; 
And Gottlieb's supper is waiting 

here; 
A very capacious flagon of beer, 
And a very portentous loaf of 

bread. 
One would say his grief did not 

much oppress him. 390 

Here 's to the health of the Prince, 

God bless him ! 
He drinks. 

Ha! it buzzes and stings like a 
hornet ! 

And what a scene there, through 
the door ! 

The forest behind and the garden 
before, 

And midway an old man of three- 
score, 

With a wife and children that ca- 
ress him. 

Let me try still further to cheer 
and adorn it 

With a merry, echoing blast of my 
cornet ! 
Goes out blowing his horn. 



THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON 
THE RHINE. 

Prince Henry and Elsie 
standing on the terrace at even- 
ing. 

The sound of bells heard from 
a distance. 

prince henry. 
We are alone. The wedding guests 
Eide down the hill, with plumes 
and cloaks, 400 

And the descending dark invests 
The Niederwald, and all the nests 
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 

ELSIE. 

What bells are those, that ring so 

slow, 
So mellow, musical, and low ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are the bells of Geisenheim, 
That with their melancholy chime 
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 

ELSIE. 

Listen, beloved. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

They are done ! 
Dear Elsie ! many years ago 410 
Those same soft bells at eventide 
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, 
As, seated by Fastrada's side 
At Ingelheim, in all his pride 
He heard their sound with secret 
pain. 

ELSIE. 

Their voices only speak to me 
Of peace and deep tranquillity, 
And endless confidence in thee ! 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Thou knowest the story of her 

ring, 
How, when the court went back 

to Aix, 420 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 



605 



Fastrada died ; and how the king 
Sat watching by her night and day, 
Till into one of the blue lakes, 
Which water that delicious land, 
They cast the ring, drawn from her 

hand : 
And the great monarch sat serene 
And sad beside the fated shore, 
Nor left the land f oreverrnore. 

ELSIE. 

That was true love. 

PRINCE HENRY. 

For him the queen 

Ne'er did what thou hast done for 

me. 430 

ELSIE. 

Wilt thou as fond and faithful be ? 
Wilt thou so love me after death ? 

PRINCE HENRY. 

In life's delight, in death's dismay, 

In storm and sunshine, night and 
day, 

In health, in sickness, in decay, 

Here and hereafter, I am thine ! 

Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Be- 
neath 

The calm, blue waters of thine 
eyes, 

Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, 

And, undisturbed by this world's 
breath, 440 

With magic light its jewels shine ! 

This golden ring, which thou hast 
worn 
-Upon thy finger since the morn. 

Is but a symbol and a semblance, 

An outward fashion, a remem- 
brance, 

Of what thou wearest within un- 
seen, 

O my Fastrada, O my queen ! 

Behold ! the hill-tops all aglow 

With purple and with amethyst ; 

While the whole valley deep be- 
low 450 

Is filled, and seems to overflow, 

With a fast-rising tide of mist. 



The evening air grows damp and 

chill; 
Let us go in. 

ELSIE. 

Ah, not so soon. 
See yonder fire ! It is the moon 
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. 
It glimmers on the forest tips, 
And through the dewy foliage 

drips 
In little rivulets of light, 
And makes the heart in love with 

night. 460 

PRINCE HENRY. 

Oft on this terrace, when the day 
Was closing, have I stood and 

gazed, 
And seen the landscape fade away, 
And the white vapors rise and 

drown 
Hamlet and vineyard, tower and 

town, 
While far above the hill-tops 

blazed. 
But then another hand than thine 
Was gently held and clasped in 

mine; 
Another head upon my breast 
Was , laid, as thine is now, at 

rest. 470 

Why dost thou lift those tender 

eyes 
With so much sorrow and sur- 
prise ? 
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, 
Was that which in my own was 

pressed. 
A manly form usurped thy place, 
A beautiful, but bearded face, 
That now is in the Holy Land,' 
Yet in my memory from afar 
Is shining on us like a star. 
But linger not. For while I 

speak, 480 

A sheeted spectre white and tall, 
The cold mist climbs the castle 

wall, 
And lays his hand upon thy cheek ! 
They go in. 



6o6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



EPILOGUE 

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS 

ASCENDING 

THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, 

with closed book. 
God sent his messenger the rain, 
And said unto the mountain brook, 
1 Eise up, and from thy caverns look 
And leap, with naked, snow-white 

feet, 
From the cool hills into the heat 
Of the broad, arid plain.' 

God sent his messenger of faith, 
And whispered in the maiden's 

heart, 
'Eise up, and look from where 

thou art, 
And scatter with unselfish hands 10 
Thy freshness on the barren sands 
And solitudes of Death,' 

O beauty of holiness, 

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! 

O power of meekness, 

Whose very gentleness and weak- 
ness 

Are like the yielding, but irresisti- 
ble air ! 

Upon the pages 

Of the sealed volume that I bear, 

The deed divine 20 

Is written in characters of gold, 

That never shall grow old, 

But through all ages 

Burn and shine, 

"With soft effulgence ! 

O God ! it is thy indulgence 

That Alls the world with the bliss 

Of a good deed like this ! 

THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, 

with open book. 
Not yet, not yet 

Is the red sun wholly set, 30 

But evermore recedes, 
While open still I bear 
The Book of Evil Deeds, 
To let the breathings of the upper 
air 



Visit its pages and erase 

The records from its face ! 

Fainter and fainter as I gaze 

In the broad blaze 

The glimmering landscape shines, 

And below me the black river 40 

Is hidden by wreaths of vapor ! 

Fainter and fainter the black lines 

Begin to quiver 

Along the whitening surface of the 

paper ; 
Shade after shade 
The terrible words grow faint and 

fade, 
And in their place 
Euns a white space ! 

Down goes the sun ! 

But the soul of one, 50 

Who by repentance 

Hath escaped the dreadful sen- 
tence, 

Shines bright below me as I look. 

It is the end ! 

With closed Book 

To God do I ascend. 

Lo ! over the mountain steeps 

A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps 

Beneath my feet ; 

A blackness inwardly brighten- 
ing 60 

With sullen heat, 

As a storm-cloud lurid with light- 
ning. 

And a cry of lamentation, 

Eepeated and again repeated, 

Deep and loud 

As the reverberation 

Of cloud answering unto cloud, 

Swells and rolls away in the dis- 
tance, 

As if the sheeted 

Lightning retreated, 70 

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's 
resistance. 

It is Lucifer, 

The son of mystery ; 

And since God suffers him to be, 

He, too, is God's minister, 

And labors for some good 

By us not understood ! 



MARTIN LUTHER 



607 



SECOND INTERLUDE 

MARTIN LUTHER 

A CHAMBER IK THE WARTBURG. 
MORNING. MARTIN LUTHER 
WRITING. 

MARTIN LUTHER. 

Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, 
A goodly wall and weapon ; 
From all our need He helps us free, 
That now to us doth happen. 

The old evil foe 

Doth in earnest grow, 

In grim armor dight, 

Much guile and great might ; 
On earth there is none like him. 

Oh yes ; a tower of strength in- 
deed, 10 

A present help in all our need, 

A sword and buckler is our God. 

Innocent men have walked un- 
shod 

O'er burning ploughshares, and 
have trod 

Unharmed on serpents in their 
path, 

And laughed to scorn the Devil's 
wrath ! 

Safe in this "Wartburg tower I 

stand 
Where Ood hath led me by the 

hand, 
And look down, with a heart at 

ease, 
0verthepleasantneighborhoods,2o 
Over the vast Thuringian Woods, 
With flash of river, and gloom of 

trees, 
With castles crowning the dizzy 

heights, 
And farms and pastoral delights, 
And the morning pouring every- 
where 
Its golden glory on the air. 
Safe, yes, safe am I here at last, 
Safe from the overwhelming blast 
Of the mouths of Hell, that fol- 
lowed me fast, 



And the howling demons of de- 
spair 30 

That hunted me like a beast to his 
lair. 

Of our own might we nothing can ; 
We soon are unprotected ; 
There fighteth for us the right Man, 
Whom God himself elected. 

Who is He ; ye exclaim ? 

Christus is his name, 

Lord of Sabaoth, 

Very God in troth ; 
The field He holds forever. 40 

Nothing can vex the Devil more 
Than the name of Him whom we 

adore. 
Therefore doth it delight me best 
To stand in the choir among the 

rest, 
With the great organ trumpeting 
Through its metallic tubes, and 

sing.- 
Et verbum caro factum est ! 
These words the Devil cannot en 

dure, 
For he knoweth their meanin. 

well! 
Him they trouble and repel, j 
Us they comfort and allure, 
And happy it were, if our delight 
Were as great as his affright ! 

Yea, music is the Prophets' art ; 
Among the gifts that God h? 

sent, 
One of the most magnificent ! 
It calms the agitated heart; 
Temptations, evil thoughts, a 

all 
The passions that disturb the sc 
Are quelled by its divine control 
As the Evil Spirit fled from Sau 
And his distemper was allayed, 
When David took his harp 1 

played. 

This world may full of Devils be, 
All ready to devour us ; 
Yet not so sore afraid are we, 
They shall not overpower us. 



6o8 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



This World's Prince, howe'er 
Fierce he may appear, 
He can harm us not, 70 

He is doomed, God wot ! 
One little word can slay him ! 



Incredible it seems to some 

And to myself a mystery, 

That such weak flesh and blood as 
we, 

Armed with no other shield or 
sword, 

Or other weapon than the Word, 

Should combat and should over- 
come 

A spirit powerful as he ! 

He summons forth the Pope of 
Rome 80 

"With all his diabolic crew, 

His shorn and shaven retinue 

Of priests and children of the 
dark ; 

Kill! kill! they cry, the Here- 
siarch, 

Who rouseth up all Christendom 

A.gainst us ; and at one fell blow 
seeks the whole Church to over- 
throw ! 
ot yet ; my hour is not yet come. 

esterday in an idle mood, 89 
unting with others in the wood, 
did not pass the hours in vain, 
>v in the very heart of all 
te joyous tumult raised around, 
outing of men, and baying of 

hound, 
1 the bugle's blithe and cheery 

call, 
d echoes answering back again, 
Dm crags of the distant moun- 
tain chain, — 
the very heart of this, I found 
nystery of grief and pain, 
vas an image of the power 100 
Satan, hunting the world about, 
th his nets and traps and well- 
trained dogs, 
bishops and priests and theo- 

logues, 
1 all the rest of the rabble rout, 



Seeking whom he may devour ! 
Enough I have had of hunting 

hares, 
Enough of these hours of idle 

mirth, 
Enough of nets and traps and 

gins ! 
The only hunting of any worth 
Is where I can pierce with jave- 
lins no 
The cunning foxes and wolves and 

bears 
The whole iniquitous troop of 

beasts, 
The Roman Pope and the Roman 

priests 
That sorely infest and afflict the 

earth ! 

Ye nuns, ye singing birds of the 

air! 
The fowler hath caught you in his 

snare, 
And keeps you safe in his gilded 

cage, 
Singing the song that never tires, 
To lure down others from their 

nests ; 
How ye flutter and beat your 

breasts, 120 

Warm and soft with young desires 
Against the cruel, pitiless wires, ; 
Reclaiming your lost heritage ! 
Behold ! a hand unbars the door, 
Ye shall be captives held no more. 

The Word they shall perforce let stand, 
And little thanks they merit ! 
For He is with us in the land, 
With gifts of his own Spirit ! 

Though they take our life, 130 

Goods, honors, child and wife, 

Let these pass away, 

Little gain have they ; 
The Kingdom still remaineth ! 

Yea, it remaineth forevermore, 
However Satan may rage and roar, 
Though often he whispers in my 

ears: 
What if thy doctrines false should 

be? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



609 



And wrings from me a bitter 

sweat. 
Then I put him to flight with 

jeers, 140 

Saying : Saint Satan ! pray for me : 
If thouthinkest I am not saved yet! 

And my mortal foes that lie in 

wait 
In every avenue and gate ! 
As to that odious monk John Tet- 

zel, 
Hawking about his hollow wares 
Like a huckster at village fairs, 
And those mischievous fellows, 

Wetzel, 
Campanus, Carlstadt, Martin Cel- 

larius, 
And all the busy, multifarious 150 
Heretics, and disciples of Arius, 
Half-learned, dunce-bold, dry and 

hard, 
They are not worthy of my regard, 
Poor and humble as I am. 

But ah ! Erasmus of Rotterdam, 

He is the vilest miscreant 

That ever walked this world be- 
low! 

A Momus, making his mock and 
mow, 

At Papist and at Protestant, 159 

Sneering at St. John and St. Paul, 

At God and Man, at one and all ; 

And yet as hollow and false and 
drear, 

As a cracked, pitcher to the ear, 

And ever growing worse and 
worse ! 

Whenever I pray, I pray for a 
curse 

On Erasmus, the Insincere ! 

Philip Melancthon ! thou alone 

Faithful among the faithless 
knowiii 

Thee I hail, and only thee ! 

Behold the record of us three ! 170 
Res et verba Philippics, 
Res sine verbis Lutherus ; 
Erasmus verba sine re ! 



My Philip, prayest thou for me ? 
Lifted above all earthly care, 
From these high regions of the 

aii', 
Among the birds that day and 

night 
Upon the branches of tall trees 
Sing their lauds and litanies, 
Praising God with all their might, 
My Philip, unto thee I write. 181 

My Philip! thou who knowest 

best 
All that is passing in this breast ; 
The spiritual agonies, 
The inward deaths, the inward 

hell, 
And the divine new births as well, 
That surely follow after these, 
As after winter follows spring ; 
My Philip, in the night-time sing 
This song of the Lord I send to 

thee ; 190 

And I will sing it for thy sake, 
Until our answering voices make 
A glorious antiphony, 
And choral chant of victory ! 



PAET THREE 

THE NEW ENGLAND 
TRAGEDIES 

JOHN ENDICOTT 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 



John Endicott . . . 


Governor. 


John Endicott . . . 


His son. 


Richard Bellingham 


Deputy Go'i 




nor. 


John Norton . . . . 


Minister of 




Gospel. 


Edward Butter . . 


Treasurer. 


Walter Merry . . . 


Tithing-mi 


Nicholas Upsall . . 


An old citi 


Samuel Cole . . . . 


Landlord 




the Thr 




Marine, 


Simon Kempthorn ) 




Ralph Goldsmith j 


Sea-CapU 



6io 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



"Wenlock Christison) 
Edith, his daughter > Quakers. 
Edward Wharton ) 
Assistants, Halberdiers, Marshal, etc. 

The scene is in Boston in the year 
1665. 

PROLOGUE 

To-night we strive to read, as we 
may best, 

This city, like an ancient palimp- 
sest; 

And bring to light, upon the blot- 
ted page, 

The mournful record of an earlier 
age, 

That, pale and half effaced, lies 
hidden away 

Beneath the fresher writing of to- 
day. 

Rise, then, O buried city that hast 
been; 

Rise up, rebuilded in the painted 
scene, 

And let our curious eyes behold 
once more 

The pointed gable and the pent- 
house door, 10 

The Meeting-house with leaden- 
, latticed panes, 

The narrow thoroughfares, the 
crooked lanes ! 

Rise, too, ye shapes and shadows 

of the Past, 
Rise from your long - forgotten 

graves at last ; 
"" "»t us behold your faces, let us 
hear 
3 words ye uttered in those 

days of fear ! 
risit your familiar haunts 

again, — 
5 scenes of triumph, and the 

scenes of pain, 
I leave the footprints of your 

bleeding feet 
e more upon the pavement of 
the street ! 20 



Nor let the Historian blame the 

Poet here, 
If he perchance misdate the day 

or year, 
And group events together, by his 

art, 
That in the Chronicles lie far 

apart ; 
For as the double stars, though 

sundered far, 
Seem to the naked eye a single 

star, 
So facts of history, at a distance 

seen, 
Into one common point of light 

convene. 

'Why touch upon such themes?' 

perhaps some friend 
May ask, incredulous; 'and to 

what good end ? 30 

"Why drag again into the light of 

day 
The errors of an age long passed 

away ? ' 
I answer: 'For the lesson that 

they teach : 
The tolerance of opinion and of 

speech. 
Hope, Faith, and Charity remain, 

— these three ; 
And greatest of them all is 

Charity.' 

Let us remember, if these words 
be true, 

That unto all men Charity is 
due; 

Give what we ask ; and pity, while 
we blame, 

Lest we become copartners in the 
shame, 40 

Lest we condemn, and yet our- 
selves partake, 

And persecute the dead for con- 
science' sake. 

Therefore it is the author seeks 

and strives 
To represent the dead as in their 

lives, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



611 



And lets at times his characters 
unfold 

Their thoughts in their own lan- 
guage, strong and bold ; 

He only asks of you to do the like ; 

To hear him first, and, if you will, 
then strike. 



ACT I 

Scene I. — Sunday afternoon. 
The interior of the Meeting- 
house. On the pulpit, an hour- 
glass ; below, a box for contribu- 
tions. John - Norton in the 
pulpit. Governor Endicott 
in a canopied seat, attended by 
four halberdiers. The congre- 
gation singing. 

The Lord descended from above, 
i And bowed the heavens high ; 
And underneath his feet He cast 
The darkness of the sky. 

On Cherubim and Seraphim 

Right royally He rode, 
And on the wings of mighty winds 

Came flying all abroad. 

NORTON {rising and turning the 
hour-glass on the pulpit) . 

I heard a great voice from the 

temple saying 
Unto the Seven Angels, Go your 

ways ; 10 

Pour out the vials of the wrath of 

God 
Upon the earth. And the First 

Angel went 
And poured his vial on the earth ; 

and straight 
There fell a noisome and a griev- 
ous sore 
On them which had the birth-mark 

of the Beast, 
And them which worshipped and 

adored his image. 
On us hath fallen this grievous 

pestilence. 
There is a sense of terror in the 

air: 



And apparitions of things horrible 

Are seen by many. From the sky 
above us 20 

The stars fall ; and beneath us the 
earth quakes ! 

The sound of drums at midnight 
from afar, 

The sound of horsemen riding to 
and fro, 

As if the gates of the invisible 
world 

Were opened, and the dead came 
forth to warn us, — 

All these are omens of some dire 
disaster 

Impending over us, and soon to 
fall. 

Moreover, in the language of the 
Prophet, 

Death is again come up into our 
windows, 

To cut off little children from with- 
out, 30 

And young men from the streets. 
And in the midst 

Of all these supernatural threats 
and warnings 

Doth Heresy uplift its horrid 
head: 

A vision of Sin more awful and 
appalling 

Than any phantasm, ghost, or ap- 
parition, 

As arguing and portending some 
enlargement 

Of the mysterious Power of Dark- 
ness ! 

Edith, barefooted, and, clad in 
sackcloth, with her hair hanging 
loose upon her shoidders., wa.lk's 
slowly up the aisle, followed\ by 
Wharton and other Quakers. 
The congregation starts up! in 
confusion. 

edith {to Norton, raising hler 
hand). 

Peace! I 

I 

NORTON. 

Anathema maranatha ! The Lord 
cometh ! 



6l2 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



EDITH. 


Which, as your Calvin says, sur- 


Yea, verily He cometh, and shall 


passeth reason. 


judge 




The shepherds of Israel who do 


NORTON. 


feed themselves, 40 


The laborer is worthy of his hire. 


And leave their flocks to eat what 




they have trodden 


EDITH. 


Beneath their feet. 


Yet our great Master did not teach 




for hire, 60 


NORTON. 


And the Apostles without purse 


Be silent, Dabbling woman ! 


or scrip 


St. Paul commands all women to 


Went forth to do his work. Be- 


keep silence 


hold this box 


Within the churches. 


Beneath thy pulpit. Is it for the 




poor ? 


EDITH. 


Thou canst not answer. It is for 


Yet the women prayed 


the Priest ; 


And prophesied at Corinth in his 


And against this I bear my testi- 


day; 


mony. 


And, among those on whom the 




fiery tongues 


NORTON. 


Of Pentecost descended, some were 


Away with all these Heretics and 


women ! 


Quakers ! 




Quakers, forsooth! Because a 


NORTON. 


quaking fell 


The Elders of the Churches, by our 


On Daniel, at beholding of the 


law, 


Vision, 


Alone have power to open the 


Must ye needs shake and quake? 


doors of speech 


Because Isaiah 


And silence in the Assembly. I 


Went stripped and barefoot, must 


command you ! 50 


ye wail and howl ? 70 




Must ye go stripped and naked? 


EDITH. 


must ye make 


The law of God is greater than 


A wailing like the dragons, and a 


your laws ! 


mourning 


Ye build your church with blood, 


As of the owls? Ye verify the 


your town with crime ; 


adage 


The heads thereof give judgment 


That Satan is Ood's ape ! Away 


for reward ; 


with them ! 


. The priests thereof teach only for 


Tumult. The Quakers are driven 


their hire ; 


out with violence, Edith/oIIow- 


Yowr laws condemn the innocent 


ing slowly. The congregation 


to death ; 


retires in confusion. 


And! against this I bear my testi- 


Thus freely do the Reprobates 


mony ! 


commit 


! 


Such measure of iniquity as fits 


NORTON. 


them 


Whflit testimony ? 


For the intended measure of God's 




wrath, 


( EDITH. 


And even in violating God's com 


That of the Holy Spirit, 


mands 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



613 



Are they fulfilling the divine de- 
cree ! 

The will of man is but an instru- 
ment 80 

Disposed and predetermined to its 
action 

According unto the decree of God, 

Being as much subordinate there- 
to 

As is the axe unto the hewer's 
hand! 

He descends from the pidpit, and 
joins Governor Endicott, 
iv ho comes forward to meet him. 

The omens and the wonders of the 
time, 

Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, 
and disease. 

The blast of corn, the death of our 
young men, 

Our sufferings in all precious, plea- 
sant things, 

Are manifestations of the wrath 
divine, 

Signs of God's controversy with 
New England. 90 

These emissaries of the Evil One, 

These servants and ambassadors 
of Satan, 

Are but commissioned execution- 
ers 

Of God's vindictive and deserved 
displeasure. 

We must receive them as the So- 
man Bishop 

Once received Attila, saying, I re- 
joice 

You have come safe, whom I es- 
teem to be 

The scourge of God, sent to chas- 
tise his people. 

This very heresy, perchance, may 
serve 

The purposes of God to some good 
end. 100 

With you I leave it; but do not 
neglect 

The holy tactics of the civil sword. 

ENDICOTT. 

And what more can be done ? 



NORTON. 

The hand that cut 

The Ked Cross from the colors of 
the king 

Can cut the red heart from this 
heresy. 

Fear not. All blasphemies imme- 
diate 

And heresies turbulent must be 
suppressed 

By civil power. 

ENDICOTT. 

But in what way suppressed ? 

NORTON. 

The Book of Deuteronomy de- 
clares 
That if thy son, thy daughter, or 

thy wife, no 

Ay, or the friend which is as thine 

own soul, 
Entice thee secretly, and say to 

thee, 
Let us serve other gods, then shall 

thine eye 
Not pity him, but thou shalt surely 

kill him, 
And thine own hand shall be the 

first upon him 
To slay him. 

ENDICOTT. 

Four already have been slain ; 

And others banished upon pain of 
death. 

But they come back again to meet 
their doom, 

Bringing the linen for their wind- 
ing-sheets. 

We must not go too far. In truth, 
I shrink 120 

From sheddi ng of more blood. The 
people murmur 

At our severity. 

NORTON. 

Then let them murmur ! 
Truth is relentless; justice never 
wavers : 



614 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



The greatest firmness is the great- 
est mercy ; 

The noble order of the Magistracy 

Cometh immediately from God, 
and yet 

This noble order of the Magis- 
tracy 

Is by these Heretics despised and 
outraged. 

ENDICOTT. 

To-night they sleep in prison. If 

they die, 
They cannot say that we have 

caused their death. 130 

We do but guard the passage, with 

the sword 
Pointed towards them; if they 

dash upon it, 
Their blood will be on their own 

heads, not ours. 

NORTON. 

Enough. I ask no more. My pre- 
decessor 

Coped only with the milder here- 
sies 

Of Antinomians and of Anabap- 
tists. 

He was not born to wrestle with 
these fiends. 

Chrysostom in his pulpit ; Augus- 
tine 

In disputation; Timothy in his 
house ! 

The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased 
to burn 140 

When from the portals of that 
church he came 

To be a burning and a shining 
light 

Here in the wilderness. And, as 
I he lay 

On his death-bed, he saw me in a 
vision 

Ride on a snow-white horse into 
this town. 

His vision was prophetic; thus I 
> came, 

A. terror to the impenitent, and 
' Death 



On the pale horse of the Apoca- 
lypse 

To all the accursed race of Here- 
tics ! {Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A street. On one side, 
Nicholas Upsall's house; on 
the other, Walter Merry's, 
with a flock of pigeons on the 
roof. Upsall seated in the 
porch of his house. 

UPSALL. 

O day of rest ! How beautiful, how 
fair, 150 

How welcome to the weary and 
the old ! 

Day of the Lord! and truce to 
earthly cares ! 

Day of the Lord, as all our days 
should be ! 

Ah, why will man by his austeri- 
ties 

Shut out the blessed sunshine and 
the light, 

And make of thee a dungeon of 
despair ! 

Walter merry (entering and 
looking round him). 

All silent as a graveyard ! No one 
stirrinr; ; 

No footfall in the street, no sound 
of voices ! 

By righteous punishment and per- 
severance, 

And perseverance in that punish- 
ment, 160 

At last I have brought this contu- 
macious town 

To strict observance of the Sab- 
bath day. 

Those wanton gospellers, the pi- 
geons yonder, 

Are now the only Sabbath-break- 
ers left. 

I cannot put them down. As if t(* 
taunt me, 

They gather every Sabbath after- 
noon 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



615 



In noisy congregation on my roof, 


MERRY. 


Billing and cooing. Whir! take 


Nice angels ! 


that, ye Quakers. 


Angels in broad-brimmed hats and 




russet cloaks, 


Throws a stone at the pigeons. 
Sees Upsall. 


The color of the Devil's nutting- 
bag ! They came 


Ah ! Master Nicholas ! 


Into the Meeting-house this after- 




noon 


UPSALL,. 


More in the shape of devils than 


Good afternoon, 


of angels. 


Dear neighbor Walter. 


The women screamed and fainted ; 




and the boys 


MERRY. 


Made such an uproar in the gal- 


Master Nicholas, 


lery 190 


You have to-day withdrawn your- 


I could not keep them quiet. 


self from meeting. 171 






UPSALL. 


UPSALL. 


Neighbor Walter, 


Yea, I have chosen rather to wor- 


Your persecution is of no avail. 


ship God 




Sitting in silence here at my own 


MERRY. 


door. 


'T is prosecution, as the Governor 


"- 


says, 


MERRY. 


Not persecution. 


Worship the Devil ! You this day 




have broken 


UPSALL. 


Three of our strictest laws. First, 


Well, your prosecution ; 


by abstaining 


Your hangings do no good. 


From public worship. Secondly, 




by walking 


MERRY. 


Profanely on the Sabbath. 


The reason is, 




We do not hang enough. But, 


UPSALL. 


mark my words, 


Not one step. 


We '11 scour them ; yea, I warrant 


I have been sitting still here, see- 


ye, we '11 scour them ! 


ing the pigeons 


And now go in and entertain your 


Feed in the street and fly about 


angels, 


the roofs. 


And don't be seen here in the street 




again 


MERRY. 


Till after sundown! — There they 


You have been in the street with 


are again ! 200 


other intent 180 


Exit Upsall. Merry throws 


Than going to and from the Meet- 


another stone at the pigeons, 


ing-house. 


and then goes into his house. 


And, thirdly, you are harboring 




Quakers here. 


Scene III. — A room in Upsall'S 


I am amazed! 


house. Night. Edith, Whak 




ton, and other Quakers seate 


I 


UPSALL. 


at a table. Upsall seated nea 


r 


Men sometimes, it is said, 


them. Several books on the ti 


ij> 


Entertain angels unawares. 


ble. 





6i6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



WHAETON. 

William and Marmaduke, our mar- 
tyred brothers, 

Sleep in untimely graves, if aught 
untimely 

Can find place in the providence of 
God, 

Where nothing comes too early or 
too late. 

I saw their noble death. They to 
the scaffold 

Walked hand in hand. Two hun- 
dred armed men 

And many horsemen guarded 
them, for fear 

Of rescue by the crowd, whose 
hearts were stirred. 

EDITH. 

O holy martyrs ! 

WHARTON. 

When they tried to speak, 
Their voices by the roll of drums 

were drowned. 210 

When they were dead they still 

looked fresh and fair, 
The terror of death was not upon 

their faces. 
Our sister Mary. Jike wise, the meek 

woman, 
Has passed through martyrdom to 

her reward ; 
Exclaiming, as they led her to 

her death, 
* These many days I 've been in 

Paradise.' 
And, when she died, Priest Wil- 
son threw the hangman 
His handkerchief, to cover the 

pale face 
He dared not look upon. 

EDITH. 

As persecuted, 

Yet not forsaken; as unknown, 
yet known ; 220 

As dying, and behold we are alive ; 

As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing al- 
ways; 

As having nothing, yet possessing 
alii 



WHARTON. 

And Leddra, too, is dead. But 
from his prison, 

The day before his death, he sent 
these words 

Unto the little flock of Christ: 
' Whatever 

May come upon the followers of 
the Light,— 

Distress, affliction, famine, naked- 
ness, 

Or perils in the city or the sea, 

Or persecution, or even death it- 
self,— 230 

I am persuaded that God's armor 
of Light, 

As it is loved and lived in, will pre- 
serve you. 

Yea, death itself; through which 
you will find entrance 

Into the pleasant pastures of the 
fold, 

Where you shall feed forever as 
the herds 

That roam at large in the low val- 
leys of Achor. 

And as the flowing of the ocean 
fills 

Each creek and branch thereof, 
and then retires, 

Leaving behind a sweet and whole- 
some savor; 

So doth the virtue and the life of 
God 240 

Flow evermore into the hearts of 
those 

Whom He hath made partakers of 
his nature ; 

And, when it but withdraws itself 
a little, 

Leaves a sweet savor after it, that 
many 

Can say they are made clean by 
every word 

That He hath spoken to them in 
their silence.' 

edith (rising and breaking into 
a kind of chant). 

Truly we do but grope here in the 
dark. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



617 



Near the partition- wall of Life and 
Death, 

At every moment dreading or de- 
siring 

To lay our hands upon the unseen 
door! 250 

Let us, then, labor for an inward 
stillness, — 

An inward stillness and an inward 
healing; 

That perfect silence where the lips 
and heart 

Are still, and we no longer enter- 
tain 

Our own imperfect thoughts and 
vain opinions, 

But God alone speaks in us, and 
we wait 

In singleness of heart, that we 
may know 

His will, and in the silence of our 
spirits, 

That we may do his will, and do 
that only ! 

A long pause, interrupted by the 
sound of a drum approaching ; 
then shouts in the street, and a 
loud knocking at the door. 

MARSHAL. 

Within there ! Open the door ! 

MERRY. 

Will no one answer? 

MARSHAL. 

In the King's name! Within 
there ! 

MERRY. 

Open the door ! 

TJPSALL {from, the window). 

It is not barred. Come in. No- 
thing prevents you. 262 

The poor man's door is ever on 
the latch. 

He needs no bolt nor bar to shut 
out thieves ; 



He fears no enemies, and has no 

friends 
Importunate enough to need a 

key. 

Enter John Endicott, the Mar- 
shal, Merry, and a crowd. 
Seeing the Quakers silent and 
unmoved, they ■pause, awe- 
struck. Endicott opposite 
Edith. 

marshal. 

In the King's name do I arrest 
you all ! 

Away with them to prison. Mas- 
ter Upsall, 

You are again discovered harbor- 
ing here 

These ranters and disturbers of 
the peace. 270 

You know the law. 

UPSALL. 

I know it, and am ready 
To suffer yet again its penalties. 

EDITH (to ENDICOTT). 

Why dost thou persecute me, Saul 
of Tarsus ? 



ACT II 

Scene I. — John Endicott's 
room. Early morning. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

'Why dost thou persecute me, 
Saul of Tarsus ? ' 

All night these words were ring- 
ing in mine ears ! 

A sorrowful sweet face; a look 
that pierced me 

With meek reproach; a voice of 
resignation 

That had a life of suffering in its 
tone; 

And that was all! And yet I 
could not sleep, 



6i8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Or, when I slept, I dreamed that 

awful dream ! 
I stood beneath the elm-tree on 

the Common 
On which the Quakers have been 

hanged, and heard 
A voice, not hers, that cried amid 

the darkness, 10 

'This is Aceldama, the field of 

blood ! 
I will have mercy, and not sacri- 
fice!' 
Opens the window, and looks out. 
The sun is up already; and my 

heart 
Sickens and sinks within me when 

I think 
How many tragedies will be en- 
acted 
Before his setting. As the earth 

rolls round, 
It seems to me a huge Ixion's 

wheel, 
Upon whose whirling spokes we 

are bound fast, 
And must go with it! Ah, how 

bright the sun 
Strikes on the sea and on the 

masts of vessels, 20 

That are uplifted in the morning 

air, 
Like crosses of some peaceable 

crusade ! 
It makes me long to sail for lands 

unknown, 
No matter whither ! Under me, in 

shadow, 
Gloomy and narrow lies the little 

town, 
Still sleeping, but to wake and toil 

awhile, 
Then sleep again. How dismal 

looks the prison, 
How grim and sombre in the sun- 
less street,— 
The prison where she sleeps, or 

wakes and waits 
For what I dare not think of,— 

death, perhaps ! 30 

A word that has been said may be 

unsaid : 



It is but air. But when a deed is 
done 

It cannot be undone, nor can our 
thoughts 

Reach out to all the mischiefs that 
may follow. 

'T is time for morning prayers. I 
will go down. 

My father, though severe, is kind 
and just ; 

And when his heart is tender with 
devotion, — 

When from his lips have fallen the 
words, ' Forgive us 

As we forgive,' — then will I inter- 
cede 39 

For these poor people, and per- 
haps may save them. [Exit. 

Scene II. — Dock Square. On one 
side, the tavern of the Three 
Mariners. In the background, 
a quaint building with gables ; 
and, beyond it, wharves and 
shipping. Captain Kemp - 
thorn and others seated at a 
table before the door. Samuel 
Cole standing near them. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Come, drink about ! Remember 
Parson Melham, 

And bless the man who first in- 
vented flip ! 

They drink. 

COLE. 

Pray, Master Kempthorn, where 
were you last night? 

KEMPTHORN. 

On board the Swallow, Simon 
Kempthorn, master, 

Up for Barbadoes, and the Wind- 
ward Islands. 

COLE. 

The town was in a tumult. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And for what? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



619 



COLE. 

Your Quakers were arrested. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How my Quakers ? 

COLE. 

Those you brought in your vessel 
from Barbadoes. 

They made an uproar in the Meet 
ing-house 

Yesterday, and they're now in 
prison for it. 50 

I owe you little thanks for bring- 
ing them 

To the Three Mariners. 

KEMPTHORN. 

They have not harmed you. 
I tell you, Goodman Cole, that 

Quaker girl 
Is precious as a sea-bream's eye. I 

tell you 
It was a lucky day when first she 

set 
Her little foot upon the Swallow's 

deck, 
Bringing good luck, fair winds, and 

pleasant weather. 

COLE. 

I am a law-abiding citizen; 

I have a seat in the new Meeting- 
house, 

A cow-right on the Common ; and, 
besides, 60 

Am corporal in the Great Artil- 
lery. 

I rid me of the vagabonds at 
once. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Why should you not have Quakers 

at your tavern 
If you have fiddlers ? 

COLE. 

Never ! never ! never ! 
If you want fiddling you must go 
elsewhere. 



To the Green Dragon and the 

Admiral Vernon, 
And other such disreputable 

places. 
But the Three Mariners is an 

orderly house, 
Most orderly, quiet, and respecta- 
ble. 
Lord Leigh said he could be as 

quiet here 70 

As at the Governor's. And have I 

not 
King Charles's Twelve Good 

Rules, all framed and glazed, 
Hanging in my best parlor? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Here 's a health 
To good King Charles. Will you 

not drink the King? 
Then drink confusion to old Par- 
son Palmer. 

COLE. 

And who is Parson Palmer? I 
don't know him. 

KEMPTHORN. 

He had his cellar underneath his 

pulpit, 
And so preached o'er his liquor, 

just as you do. 
A drum within. 

COLE. 

Here comes the Marshal. 

merry {within). 
Make room for the Marshal. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How pompous and imposing he 
appears ! 80 

His great buff doublet bellying like 
a mainsail, 

And all his streamers fluttering in 
the wind. 

What holds he in his hand? 

COLE. 

A proclamation. 



620 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Enter the Marshal, with a 'pro- 
clamation; and Merry, with a 
halberd. They are preceded by 
a drummer, and followed by the 
hangman, with an armful of 
books, and a crowd of people, 
among whom are Upsall and 
John Endicott. A pile is 
made of the books. 

MERRY. 

Silence, the drum ! Good citizens, 

attend 
To the new laws enacted by the 

Court. 

marshal (reads). 

'Whereas a cursed sect of Here- 
tics 

Has lately risen, commonly called 
Quakers, 

Who take upon themselves to he 
commissioned 

Immediately of God, and further- 
more 

Infallibly assisted by the Spirit go 

To write and utter blasphemous 
opinions, 

Despising Government and the 
order of God 

In Church and Commonwealth, and 
speaking evil 

Of Dignities, reproaching and re- 
viling 

The Magistrates and Ministers, 
and seeking 

To turn the people from their 
faith, and thus 

Gain proselytes to their pernicious 
ways ; — 

This Court, considering the pre- 
mises, 

And to prevent like mischief as is 
wrought 

By their means in our land, doth 
hereby order, ioo 

That whatsoever master or com- 
mander 

Of any ship, bark, pink, or catch 
shall bring 

To any roadstead, harbor, creek, 
or cove 



Within this Jurisdiction any Qua. 
kers, 

Or other blasphemous Heretics, 
shall pay 

Unto the Treasurer of the Com- 
monwealth 

One hundred pounds, and for de- 
fault thereof 

Be put in prison, and continue 
there 

Till the said sum be satisfied and 
paid.' 

COLE. 

Now, Simon Kempthorn, what say 
you to that? no 

KEMPTHORN. 

I pray you, Cole, lend me a hun- 
dred pounds ! 

marshal (reads). 
4 If any one within this Jurisdic- 
tion 
Shall henceforth entertain, or shall 

conceal 
Quakers, or other blasphemous 

Heretics, 
Knowing them so to be, every such 

person 
Shall forfeit to the country forty 

shillings 
For each hour's entertainment or 

concealment, 
And shall be sent to prison, as 

aforesaid, 
Until the forfeiture be wholly 

paid.' 

Murmurs in the crowd. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now, Goodman Cole, I think your 
turn has come ! 120 

COLE. 

Knowing them so to be ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

At forty shillings 
The hour, your fine will be some 
forty pounds ! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



621 



COLE. 

Knowing them so to be ! That is 
the law. 

marshal (reads). 
' And it is further ordered and en- 

. acted, 
If any Quaker or Quakers shall 

presume 
To come henceforth into this Ju- 
risdiction, 
Every male Quaker for the first 

offence 
Shall have one ear cut off; and 

shall be kept 
At labor in the Workhouse, till 

such time 
As he be sent away at his own 

charge. 130 

And for the repetition of the of- 
fence 
Shall have his other ear cut off, 

and then 
Be branded in the palm of his right 

hand. 
And every woman Quaker shall be 

whipt 
Severely in three towns ; and every 

Quaker, 
Or he or she, that shall for a third 

time 
Herein again offend, shall have 

their tongues 
Bored through with a hot iron, and 

shall be 
Sentenced to Banishment on pain 

of Death.' 

Loud murmurs. The voice of 
Christison in the crowd. 

O patience of the Lord ! How long, 
how long, 140 

Ere thou avenge the blood of Thine 
Elect ? 

MERRY. 

Silence, there, silence! Do not 
break the peace ! 

marshal (reads). 
'Every inhabitant of this Jurisdic- 
tion 



Who shall defend the horrible 
opinions 

Of Quakers, by denying due re- 
spect 

To equals and superiors, and with- 
drawing 

From Church Assemblies, and 
thereby approving 

The abusive and destructive prac- 
tices 

Of this accursed sect, in opposi- 
tion 

To all the orthodox received opin- 
ions 150 

Of godly men, shall be forthwith 
committed 

Unto close prison for one month ; 
and then 

Kefusing to retract and to reform 

The opinions as aforesaid, he shall 
be 

Sentenced to Banishment on pain 
of Death. 

By the Court. Edward Kawson, 
Secretary.' 

Now, hangman, do your duty. 
Burn those books. 

Loud murmurs in the crowd. The 
pile of books is lighted. 

UPSALL. 

I testify against these cruel laws ! 

Forerunners are they of some 
judgment on us ; 

And, in the love and tenderness I 
bear 160 

Unto this town and people, I be- 
seech you, 

O Magistrates, take heed, lest ye 
be found 

As fighters against Ood ! 

john endicott (taking up- 
SALL's hand). 

Upsall, I thank you 
For speaking words such as some 

younger man, 
I, or another, should have said be- 
fore you. 
Such laws as these are cruel and 
oppressive ; 



622 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A blot on this fair town, and a dis- 
grace 
To any Christian people. 

merry {aside, listening behind 
them). 

Here 's sedition ! 

I never thought that any good 
would come 

Of this young popinjay, with his 
long hair 170 

And his great hoots, fit only for 
the Russians' 

Or barbarous Indians, as his fa- 
ther says ! 

THE VOICE. 

Woe to the bloody town! And 

rightfully 
Men call it the Lost Town! The 

blood of Abel 
Cries from the ground, and at the 

final judgment 
The Lord will say, ' Cain, Cain ! 

where is thy brother ? ' 

MERRY. 

Silence there in the crowd I 

UPSALL {aside). 

'T is Christison ! 

THE VOICE. 

O foolish people, ye that think to 

burn 
And to consume the truth of God, 

I tell you 
That every flame is a loud tongue 

of fire 180 

To publish it abroad to all the 

world 
Louder than tongues of men ! 

kempthobn {springing to his 
feet). 
Well said, my hearty ! 
There 's a brave fellow ! There 's 

a man of pluck ! 
A man who 's not afraid to say his 
say, 



Though a whole town's against 
him. Rain, rain, rain, 

Bones of St. Botolph, and put out 
this fire ! 

The drum beats. Exeunt all but 
Merry, Kempthoen, and 
Cole. 

merry. 
And now that matter's ended, 

Goodman Cole, 
Fetch me a mug of ale, your 

strongest ale. 

kempthorn {sitting down). 
And me another mug of flip; and 

put 
Two gills of brandy in it. 

[Exit Cole. 

MERRY. 

No ; no more. 

Not a drop more, I say. You 've 

had enough. 191 

kempthorn. 
And who are you, sir ? 



I'ma Tithing-man, 
And Merry is my name. 

kempthorn. 

A merry name \ 
I like it; and I'll drink your 

merry health 
Till all is blue. 

merry. 
And then you will be clapped 
Into the stocks, with the red let- 

ter D 
Hung round about your neck for 

drunkenness. 
You 're a free-drinker, — yes, and 
a free-thinker ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

And you are Andrew Merry, or 
Merry Andrew. 



THE NEW* ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



623 



MERRY. 

My name is Walter Merry, and 
not Andrew. 200 

KEMPTHORN. 

Andrew or Walter, you 're a merry 

fellow ; 
I '11 swear to that. 

MERRY. 

No swearing, let me tell you. 
The other day one Shorthose had 

his tongue 
Put into a cleft stick for profane 

swearing. 
Cole brings the ale. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, where 's my flip ? As sure as 
my name 's Kempthorn — 

MERRY. 

Is your name Kempthorn ? 



KEMPTHORN. 

That 's the name I go by. 

MERRY. 

What, Captain Simon Kempthorn 
of the Swallow ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

No other. 

merry {touching him on the 
shoulder). 
Then you 're wanted. I arrest you 
In the King's name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And where 's your warrant ? 

merry {unfolding a paper, and 
reading). 

T . . Here. 

Listen to me. 'Hereby you are 

required, 2lo 

In the King's name, to apprehend 

the body 

0f Sim °n Kempthorn, mariner 
and him 



Safely to bring before me, there to 

answer 
All such objections as are laid to 

him, 
Touching the Quakers.' Signed, 

John Endicott. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Has it the Governor's seal ? 
merry. 

Ay, here it is. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Death's head and cross-bones. 
That's a pirate's flag! 

MERRY. 

Beware how you revile the Magis- 
trates ; 
You may be whipped for that. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Then mum 's the word. 
Exeunt Merry and Kemp- 
thorn. 

cole. 
There 's mischief brewing! Sure, 

there 's mischief brewing ! 
I feel like Master Josselyn when 

he found 22I 

The hornet's nest, and thought it 

some strange fruit, • 
Until the seeds came out, and 

then he dropped it. [Exit. 

Scene III. — A room in the Gov. 
ernor's house. Enter Gov- 
ernor Endicott and Merry. 

ENDICOTT. 

My son, you say? ' 

MERRY. 

Your Worship's eldest son. : 

ENDICOTT. 

Speaking against the laws? \ 



624 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MERRY. 


ENDICOTT. 


Ay, worshipful sir. 


He whom I have nurtured 




And brought up in the reverence 


ENDICOTT. 


of the Lord ! 


And in the public market-place ? 


The child of all my hopes and my 




affections ! 


MERRY. 


He upon whom I leaned as a sure 


I saw him 


staff 


With my own eyes, heard him 


For my old age ! It is God's 


with my own ears. 


chastisement 




For leaning upon any arm but 


ENDICOTT. 


His! 


Impossible ! 






MERRY. 


MERRY. 


Your Worship ! — 


He stood there in the crowd 




With Nicholas Upsall, when the 


ENDICOTT. 


laws were read 


And this comes from folding par- 


To-day against the Quakers, and I 


ley 


heard him 230 


With the delusion and deceits of 


Denounce and vilipend them as 


Satan. 


unjust, 


At once, forever, must they be 


And cruel, wicked, and abomina- 


crushed out, 250 


ble. 


Or all the land will reek with her- 


ENDICOTT. 


esy ! 
Pray, have you any children ? 


Ungrateful son! God! thou 




layest upon me 


MERRY. 


A burden heavier than I can 


No, not any. 


bear! 




Surely the power of Satan must be 


ENDICOTT. 


great 


Thank God for that. He has de- 


Upon the earth, if even the elect 


livered you 


Are thus deceived and fall away 


From a great care. Enough ; my 


from grace ! 


private griefs 




Too long have kept me from the 


MERRY. 


public service. 


Worshipful sir! I meant no harm— 


Exit Merry. Endicott seats 


ENDICOTT. 


himself at the table and ar- 




ranges his papers. 


'T is well. 




STou 've done your duty, though 


The hour has come; and I am 


you 've done it roughly, 


eager now 


Ind every word you've uttered 


To sit in .judgment on these Here- 


since you came 240 


tics. 


Has stabbed me to the heart ! 


A knock. 




Come in. Who is it ? {Not look- 


MERRY 


ing up). 


I do beseech 




tour Worship's pardon ! 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 




It is I. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



625 



ENDICOTT (restraining himself). 
Sit down ! 

JOHN endicott (sitting down). 
I come to intercede for these poor 

people 
Who are in prison, and await their 

trial. 260 

ENDICOTT. 

It is of them I wish to speak with 
you. 

I have been angry with you, hut 
't is passed. 

For when I hear your footsteps 
come or go, 

See in your features your dead mo- 
ther's face, 

And in your voice detect some 
tone of hers, 

All anger vanishes, and I remem- 
ber 

The days that are no more, and 
come no more, 

When as a child you sat upon my 
knee, 

And prattled of your playthings, 
and the games 

You played among the pear-trees 
in the orchard ! 270 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh, let the memory of my noble 
mother 

Plead with you to be mild and 
merciful ! 

For mercy more becomes a Magis- 
trate 

Than the vindictive wrath which 
men call justice ! 

ENDICOTT. 

The sin of heresy is a deadly sin. 

'T is like the falling of the snow, 
whose crystals 

The traveller plays with, thought- 
less of his danger, 

Until he sees the air so full of 
light 

That it is dark ; and blindly stag- 
gering onward, 



Lost and bewildered, he sits down 
to rest ; 280 

There falls a pleasant drowsiness 
upon him, 

And what he thinks is sleep, alas 1 
is death. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And yet who is there that has 
never doubted ? 

And doubting and believing, has 
not said, 

' Lord, I believe ; help thou my un- 
belief '? 

ENDICOTT. 

In the same way we trifle with our 
doubts, 

Whose shining shapes are like the 
stars descending; 

Until at last, bewildered and dis- 
mayed, 

Blinded by that which seemed to 
give us light, 

We sink to sleep, and find that it 
is death, 290 

Rising. 

Death to the soul through all eter- 
nity ! 

Alas that I should see you growing 
up 

To man's estate, and in the admo- 
nition 

And nurture of the Law, to find 
you now 

Pleading for Heretics ! 

john endicott (rising). 

In the sight of God, 
Perhaps all men are Heretics. 

Who dares 
To say that he alone has foun 

the truth ? 
We cannot always feel and thin 

and act 
As those who go before us. Ha 

you done so, 2< 

You would not now be here. 

ENDICOTT. 

Have you forgott* 



626 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



The doom of Heretics, and the fate 


As if forever it had closed between 


of those 


us, 


Who aid and comfort them ? Have 


And I should look upon his face 


you forgotten 


no more ! 


That in the market-place this very 


Oh, this will drag me down into 


day 


my grave, — 


You trampled on the laws ? What 


To that eternal resting-place 


right have you, 


wherein 


An inexperienced and untravelled 


Man lieth down, and riseth not 


youth, 


again ! 


To sit in judgment here upon the 


Till the heavens be no more he 


acts 


shall not wake, 


Of older men and wiser than your- 


Nor be roused from his sleep ; for 


self, 


Thou dost change 


Thus stirring up sedition in the 


His countenance, and sendest him 


streets, 


away ! 329 


And making me a byword and a 


[Exit. 


jest? 






ACT III 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 




Words of an inexperienced youth 


Scene I. — The Court of Assist- 


like me 310 


ants. Endicott, Belling- 


Were powerless if the acts of 


ham, Atherton, and other 


older men 


magistrates. Kbmpthorn, 


Went not before them. 'Tis 


Merry, and constables. Af- 


these laws themselves 


terwards Wharton, Edith, 


Stir up sedition, not my judgment 


and Christison. 


of them. 






ENDICOTT. 


ENDICOTT. 


Call Captain Simon Kempthorn. 


Take heed, lest I be called, as 




Brutus was, 


MERRY. 


To be the judge of my own son ! 


Simon Kempthorn, 


Begone ! 


Come to the bar ! 


When you are tired of feeding 




upon husks, 


kempthorn comes forward. 


Return again to duty and submis- 




sion, 


ENDICOTT. 


But not till then. 


You are accused of bringing 


. 


Into this Jurisdiction, from Bar- 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


badoes, 


I hear and I obey ! 


Some persons of that sort and 


lExit. 


sect of people 


Known by the name of Quakers, 


ENDICOTT. 


and maintaining 


Jh happy, happy they who have 


Most dangerous and heretical 


no children ! 


opinions ; 


le 's gone ! I hear the hall door 


Purposely coining here to propa- 


shut behind him. 320 


gate 


t sends a dismal echo through my 


Their heresies and errors; bring- 


heart, 


ing with them 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



627 



And spreading sundry books here, 


On your refusal, you will be com- 


which contain 


mitted 


Their doctrines most corrupt and 


To prison till you do it. 


blasphemous, 10 




And contrary to the truth pro- 


KEMPTHOEN. 


fessed among us. 


But you see 


What say you to this charge ? 


I cannot do it. The law, sir, of 




Barbadoes 


KEMPTHOEN. 


Forbids the landing Quakers on 


I do acknowledge, 


the island. 


Among the passengers on board 




the Swallow 


ENDICOTT. 


Were certain persons saying Thee 


Then you will be committed. 


and Thou. 


Who comes next ? 


They seemed a harmless people, 




mostways silent, 


MERRY. 


Particularly when they said their 


There is another charge against 


prayers. 


the Captain. 


ENDICOTT. 


ENDICOTT. 


Harmless and silent as the pesti- 
lence ! 
You'd better have brought the 


What is it? 


MERRY. 


fever or the plague 


Profane swearing, please your 


Among us in your ship! There- 


Worship. 


fore, this Court, 


He cursed and swore from Dock 


For preservation of the Peace and 


Square to the Court-house. 


Truth, 20 




Hereby commands you speedily to 


ENDICOTT. 


transport, 


Then let him stand in the pillory 


Or cause to be transported speed- 
ily, 
The aforesaid persons hence unto 


for one hour. 39 


[Exit Kempthoen with consta- 


Barbadoes, 


ble. 


From whence they came ; you pay- 


Who 's next ? 


ing all the charges 




Of their imprisonment. 


MERRY. 




The Quakers. 


KEMPTHORN. 




Worshipful sir, 


; ENDICOTT. 


No ship e'er prospered that has 


Call them. 


carried Quakers 




Against their will ! I knew a ves- 


MERRY. 


sel once — 


Edward Wharton, 




Come to the bar ! 


ENDICOTT. 




And for the more effectual per- 


WHARTON. 


formance 


Yea, even to the bench. 


Hereof you are to give security 




In bonds amounting to one hun- 


ENDICOTT. 


dred pounds. 30 


Take off your hat. 



628 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



WHARTON. 

My hat offendeth not- 
If it offendeth any, let him take 

it; 
For I shall not resist. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take off his hat. 
Let him be fined ten shillings for 

contempt. 
Merry takes off Wharton's 
hat. 

WHARTON. 

What evil have I done? 

ENDICOTT. 

Your hair 's too long ; 
And in not putting off your hat to 

us 
You've disobeyed and broken 

that commandment 
Which sayeth 'Honor thy father 

and thy mother.' 

WHARTON. 

John Endicott, thou art become 

too proud ; 50 

And lovest him who putteth off 

the hat, 
And honoreth thee by bowing of 

the body, 
And sayeth 'Worshipful sir!' 

'T is time for thee 
To give such follies over, for thou 

mayest 
Be drawing very near unto thy 

grave. 

ENIMCOTT. 

Now, sirrah, leave your canting. 
Take the oath. 

WHARTON. 

Nay, sirrah me no sirrahs ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Will you swear ? 

WHARTON. 

Nay, I will not. 



ENDICOTT. 

You made a great disturbance 
And uproar yesterday in the 
Meeting-house, 59 

Having your hat on. 

WHARTON. 

I made no disturbance ; 
For peacefully I stood, like other 

people. 
I spake no words ; moved against 

none my hand ; 
But by the hair they haled me out, 

and dashed 
Their books into my face. 

ENDICOTT. 

You, Edward Wharton, 
On pain of death, depart this Ju- 
risdiction 
Within ten days. Such is your 
sentence. Go. 

WHARTON. 

John Endicott, it had been well for 

thee 
If this day's doings thou hadst 

left undone. 
But, banish me as far as thou hast 

power, 
Beyond the guard and presence of 

my God 70 

Thou canst not banish me ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Depart the Court ; 
We have no time to listen to your 

babble. 
Who >s next ? [Exit Wharton. 

MERRY. 

This woman, for the same of- 
fence. 
Edith comes forward. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is your name ? 

EDITH. 

'T is to the world unknown, 
But written in the Book of Life. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



629 



ENDICOTT. 


EDITH. 


Take heed 


You offer me this Book 


It be not written in the Book of 


To swear on ; and it saith, ' Swear 


Death ! 


not at all, 90 


What is it? 


Neither by heaven, because it is 


EDITH. 


God's Throne, 


Edith Christison. 


Nor by the earth, because it is his 




footstool ! ' 


ENDICOTT (ivith eagerness). 


I dare not swear. 


The daughter 




Of Wenlock Christison ? 


EKDICOTT. 




You dare not ? Yet you Quakers 


EDITH. 


Deny this Book of Holy Writ, the 


I am his daughter. 


Bible, 




To be the Word of God. 


ENDICOTT. 




Your father hath given us trouble 


edith {reverentially). 


many times. 


Christ is the Word, 


A bold man and a violent, who 


The everlasting oath of God. I 


sets 80 


dare not. 


At naught the authority of our 




Church and State 


ENDICOTT. 


And is in banishment on pain of 


You own yourself a Quaker, — do 


death. 


you not ? 


Where are you living ? 






EDITH. 


EDITH. 


I own that in derision and re- 


In the Lord. 


proach 




I am so called. 


ENDICOTT. 




Make answer 


ENDICOTT. 


Without evasion. Where ? 


Then you deny the Scripture 




To be the rule of life. 


EDITH. 




My outward being 


EDITH. 


Is in Barbadoes. 


Yea, I believe 




The Inner Light, and not the Writ- 


ENDICOTT. 


ten Word, 1 01 


Then why come you here ? 


To be the rule of life. 


EDITH. 


ENDICOTT. 


I come upon an errand of the 


And you deny 


Lord. 


That the Lord's Day is holy. 


ENDICOTT. 


EDITH. 


'T is not the business of the Lord 


Every dav 


you 're doing ; 


Is the Lord's Day. It runs througl 


It is the Devil's. Will you take 


all our lives, 


the oath ? 


As through the pages of the Holy 


Give her the Book. 


Bible, 


merry offers the book. 


' Thus saith the Lord.' 



630 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ENDICOTT. 

You are accused of making 
An horrible disturbance, and af- 
frighting 
The people in the Meeting-house 

on Sunday. 
What answer make you ? 

EDITH. 

I do not deny 
That I was present in your Steeple- 
house no 
On the First Day ; but I made no 
disturbance. 

ENDICOTT. 

Why came you there ? 

EDITH. 

Because the Lord commanded. 

His word was in my heart, a burn- 
ing fire 

Shut up within me and consuming 
me, 

And I was very weary with for- 
bearing ; 

I could not stay. 

ENDICOTT. 

♦T was not the Lord that sent 
you; 
As an incarnate devil did you 
come! 

EDITH. 

On the First Day, when seated, in 

my chamber, 
I heard the bells toll, calling you 

together, 
The sound struck at my life, as 

once at his, 120 

The holy man, our Founder, when 

he heard 
The far-off bells toll in the Vale of 

Beavor. 
It sounded like a market bell to 

call 
The folk together, that the Priest 

might set 
His wares to sale. And the Lord 

said within me, 



' Thou must go cry aloud against 

that Idol, 
And all the worshippers thereof.' 

I went 
Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and 

I stood 
And listened at the threshold ; and 

I heard 
The praying and the singing and 

the preaching, 130 

Which were but outward forms, 

and without power. 
Then rose a cry within me, and my 

heart 
Was filled with admonitions and 

reproofs. 
Eemembering how the Prophets 

and Apostles 
Denounced the covetous hirelings 

and diviners, 
I entered in, and spake the words 

the Lord 
Commanded me to speak. I could 

no less. 

ENDICOTT. 

Are you a Prophetess ? 

EDITH. 

Is it not written, 
' Upon my handmaidens will I pour 
out 139 

My spirit, and they shall pro- 
phesy'? 

ENDICOTT. 

Enough ; 
For out of your own mouth are 

you condemned ! 
Need we hear further ? 

THE JUDGES. 

We are satisfied. 

ENDICOTT. 

It is sufficient. Edith Christison, 
The sentence of the Court is, that 

you be 
Scourged in three towns, with forty 

stripes save one, 
Then banished upon pain of deathl 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



631 



EDITH. 


Like him disdaining all hypo- 


Your sentence 


crisy, 


Is truly no more terrible to me 


Lest, through desire to live a little 


Than bad you blown a featber 


longer, 


into the air, 


I get a stain to my old age and 


And, as it fell upon me, you had 


name! 


said, 




*Take beed it hurt thee not!' 


ENDICOTT. 


God's will be done ! 150 


Being in banishment, on pain of 




death, 


Wenlock christison (unseen in 


You come now in among us in re- 


the crowd). 


bellion. 


Woe to the city of blood! Tbe 




stone shall cry 


CHRISTISON. 


Out of the wall; the beam from 


I come not in among you in rebel- 


out the timber 


lion, 170 


Shall answer it! Woe unto him 


But in obedience to the Lord of 


that buildeth 


Heaven. 


A town with blood, and stablisb- 


Not in contempt to any Magis- 


eth a city 


trate, 


By his iniquity ! 


But only in the love I bear your 

souls, 
As ye shall know hereafter, when 


ENDICOTT. 


Who is it makes 


all men 


Such outcry here ? 


Give an account of deeds done in 




the body ! 


chkistison (coming forward). 


God's righteous judgments ye can- 


I, Wenlock Christison ! 


not escape. 


ENDICOTT. 


ONE OF THE JUDGES. 


Banished on pain of death, why 


Those who have gone before you 


come you here ? 


said the same, 




And yet no judgment of the Lord 


CHRISTISON. 


hath fallen 


I come to warn you that you shed 


Upon us. 


no more 




The blood of innocent men! It 


CHRISTISON. 


cries aloud 159 


He but waiteth till the measure 


For vengeance to the Lord ! 


Of your iniquities shall be filled 




up, 180 


ENDICOTT. 


And ye have run your race. Then 


Your life is forfeit 


will his wrath 


Unto the law ; and you shall surely 


Descend upon you to the utter- 


die, 


most! 


And sball not live. 


For thy part, Humphrey Atherton, 




it hangs 


CHKISTISON. 


Over thy head already. It shall 


Like unto Eleazer, 


come 


Maintaining the excellence of an- 


Suddenly, as a thief doth in the 


cient years 


night, 


knd tbe honor of his gray head, I 


And in the hour when least thou 


stand before you ; 


thinkest of it ! 



632 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ENDICOTT. 


Are now in their own houses here 


We have a law, and by that law 


among us. 


you die. 






ENDICOTT. 


CHRISTISON. 


Ye that will not consent, make 


I, a free man of England and free- 


record of it. 210 


born, 


I thank my God that I am not 


Appeal unto the laws of mine own 


afraid 


nation ! 


To give my judgment. Wenlock 




Christison, 


ENDICOTT. 


You must be taken back from 


There 's no appeal to England 


hence to prison. 


from this Court ! 190 


Thence to the place of public exe< 


"What ! do you think our statutes 


cution. 


are but paper ? 


There to be hanged till you be 


Are but dead leaves that rustle in 


dead — dead — dead ! 


the wind ? 




Or litter to be trampled under 


CHRISTISON. 


foot? 


If ye have power to take my life 


What say ye, Judges of the Court, 


from me,— 


— what say ye ? 


Which I do question, — God hath 


Shall this man suffer death? 


power to raise 


Speak your opinions. 


The principle of life in other 


ONE OF THE JUDGES. 


men, 
And send them here among you. 


I am a mortal man, and die I must, 


There shall be 


And that erelong; and I must 


No peace unto the wicked, saith 


then appear 


my God. 


Before the awful judgment-seat of 


Listen, ye Magistrates, for the 


Christ, 


Lord hath said it ! 220 


To give account of deeds done in 


The day ye put his servitors to 


the body. 


death, 


My greatest glory on that day will 


That day the Day of your own 


be, 200 


Visitation, 


That I have given my vote against 


The Day of Wrath, shall pass 


this man. 


above your heads, 




And ye shall be accursed forever- 


CHRISTISON. 


more ! 


If, Thomas Danforth, thou hast 




nothing more 


To Edith, embracing her. 


To glory in upon that dreadful 


Cheer up, dear heart! they have 


day 


not power to harm us. 


Than blood of innocent people, 


{Exeunt Christison and Edith 


then thy glory 


guarded. The Scene closes. 


Will be turned into shame ! The 




Lord hath said it ! 






Scene II. — A street. Enter John 


ANOTHER JUDGE. 


Endicott and Upsall. 


I cannot give consent, while other 




men 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Who have been banished upon 


Scourged in three towns ! and yet 


pain of death 


the busy people 



THE NEW ENGLAND . TRAGEDIES 



633 



Go up and down the streets on 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


their affairs 


Yet I have found him cruel and 


Of business or of pleasure, as if 


unjust 250 


nothing 


Even as a father. He has driven 


Had happened to disturb them or 


me forth 


their thoughts ! 


Into the street ; has shut his door 


When bloody tragedies like this 


upon me, 


are acted, 230 


With words of bitterness. I am 


The pulses of a nation should 


as homeless 


stand still ; 


As these poor Quakers are. 


The town should be in mourning, 




and the people 


UPSALL. 


Speak only in low whispers to each 


Then come with me. 


other. 


You shall be welcome for your 




father's sake, 


UPSALL. 


And the old friendship that has 


I know this people; and that 


been between us. 


underneath 


He will relent erelong. A father's 


A cold outside there burns a secret 


anger 


fire 


Is like a sword without a handle, 


That will find vent, and will not 


piercing 


be put out, 


Both ways alike, and wounding 


Till every remnant of these bar- 


him that wields it 259 


barous laws 


No less than him that it is pointed 


Shall be to ashes burned, and 


at. {Exeunt. 


blown away. 






Scene III. The prison. Night. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Edith reading the Bible by a 


Scourged in three towns I It is in- 


lamp. 


credible 




Such things can be ! I feel the 


EDITH. 


blood within me 240 


' Blessed are ye when men shall 


Fast mounting in rebellion, since 


persecute you, 


in vain 


And shall revile you, and shall say 


Have I implored compassion of 


against you 


my father ! 


All manner of evil falsely for my 




sake ! 


UPSALL. 


Kejoice, and be exceeding glad, 


You know your father only as a 


for great 


father ; 


Is your reward in heaven. For so 


I know him better as a Magis- 


the prophets, 


trate. 


Which were before you, have been 


He is a man both loving and se- 
vere ; 
A tender heart ; a will inflexible. 


persecuted.' 


Enter John Endicott. 


None ever loved him more than I 




have loved him. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


He is an upright man and a just 

man 
In all things save the treatment 


Edith! 


EDITH. 


of the Quakers. 


Who is it that speaketh? 



634 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Nor shudder at the forty stripes 


Saul of Tarsus : 


save one. 280 


As thou didst call me once. 






JOHN ENDICOTT. 


edith {coming forward). 


Perhaps from death itself ! 


Yea, I remember. 




Thou art the Governor's son. 


EDITH. 




I fear not death, 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Knowing who died for me. 


I am ashamed 




Thou shouldst remember me. 


john endicott (aside). 




Surely some divine 


EDITH. 


Ambassador is speaking through 


Why comest thou 


those lips 


Into this dark guest-chamber in 


And looking through those eyes! 


the night? 271 


I cannot answer ! 


What seekest thou? 






EDITH. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


If all these prison doors stood 


Forgiveness I 


opened wide 




I would not cross the threshold, — 


EDITH. 


not one step. 


I forgive 


There are invisible bars I cannot 


All who have injured me. What 


break ; 


hast thou done ? 


There are invisible doors that shut 




me in, 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


And keep me ever steadfast to my 


I have betrayed thee, thinking 


purpose. 


that in this 




I did God service. Now, in deep 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


contrition, 
I come to rescue thee. 


Thou hast the patience and the 
faith of Saints ! 290 


EDITH. 


EDITH. 


From what ? 


Thy Priest hath been with me 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


this day to save me, 
Not only from the death that 


From prison. 


comes to all, 


EDITH. 


But from the second death ! 


I am safe here within these gloomy 
walls. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


The Pharisee ! 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


My heart revolts against him and 

his creed ! 
Alas ! the coat that was without a 


From scourging in the streets, and 


in three towns ! 


seam 




Is rent asunder by contending 


EDITH. 


sects ; 


Kemembering who was scourged 


Each bears away a portion of the 


for me, I shrink not 


garment, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



635 



Blindly believing that lie has the 
whole ! 

EDITH. 

When Death, the Healer, shall 

have touched our eyes 
With moist clay of the grave, then 

shall we see 300 

The truth as we have never yet 

beheld it. 
But he that overcometh shall not 

be 
Hurt of the second death. Has he 

forgotten 
The many mansions in our father's 

house ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

There is no pity in his iron heart ! 

The hands that now bear stamped 
upon their palms 

The burning sign of Heresy, here- 
after 

Shall be uplifted against such ac- 
cusers, 

And then the imprinted letter and 
its meaning 

Will not be Heresy, but Holi- 
ness! 310 

EDITH. 

Remember, thou condemnest thine 
own father ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have no father ! He has cast me 

off. 
I am as homeless as the wind that 

moans 
And wanders through the streets* 

Oh, come with me ! 
Do not delay. Thy God shall be 

my God, 
And where thou goest I will go. 

EDITH. 

I cannot, 
Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal 

it; 
From the first moment I beheld 

thy face 



I felt a tenderness in my soul to- 

wards thee. 
My mind has since been inward to 

the Lord, 320 

Waiting his word. It has not yet 

been spoken. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I cannot wait. Trust me. Oh, 
come with me ! 

EDITH. 

In the next room, my father, an 
old man, 

Sitteth imprisoned and condemned 
to death, 

Willing to prove his faith by mar- 
tyrdom ; 

And thinkest thou his daughter 
would do less ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh, life is sweet, and death is ter- 
rible ! 

EDITH. 

I have too long walked hand in 

hand with death 
To shudder at that pale familiar 

face. 
But leave me now. I wish to be 

alone. 33a 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Not yet. Oh, let me stay. 

EDITH. 

Urge me no more. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Alas ! good-night. I will riot say 
good-by ! 

EDITH. 

Put this temptation underneath 

thy feet. 
To him that overcometh shall be 

given 
The white stone with the new 

name written on it, 



6 3 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



That no man knows save him that 

doth receive it, 
And I will give thee a new name, 

and call thee 
Paul of Damascus and not Saul of 

Tarsus. 

[Exit Endicott. Edith sits 
down again to read the Bible. 



ACT IV 

Scene I. — King Street, in front 
of the town-house. Kbmpthorn 
in the pillory. Merry and a 
crowd of lookers-on. 

kempthorn (sings). 

The world is full of care, 

Much like unto a bubble ; 
Women and care, and care and women, 

And women and care and trouble. 

Good Master Merry, may I say 
confound? 

MERRY. 

Ay, that you may. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, then, with your permission, 
Confound the Pillory ! 

MERRY. 

That 's the very thing 
The joiner said who made the 

Shrewsbury stocks. 
He said, Confound the stocks, be- 
cause they put him 
Into his own. He was the first 
man in them. 10 

KEMPTHORN. 

For swearing, was it? 

MERRY. 

No, it was for charging ; 
He charged the town too much; 

and so the town, 
To make things square, set him in 

his own stocks, 



And fined him five pound sterling, 

— just enough 
To settle his own bill. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And served him right; 
But, Master Merry, is it not eight 
bells? 



Not quite. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For, do you see ? I 'm getting tired 

Of being perched aloft here in this 
cro' nest 

Like the first mate of a whaler, or 
a Middy 

Mast-headed, looking out for land ! 
Sail ho ! 20 

Here comes a heavy-laden mer- 
chantman 

With the lee clews eased off, and 
running free 

Before the wind. A solid man of 
Boston. 

A comfortable man, with divi- 
dends, 

And the first salmon, and the first 
green peas. 
A gentleman passes. 

He does not even turn his head to 
look. 

He 's gone without a word. Here 
comes another, 

A different kind of craft on a taut 
bowline, — 

Deacon Giles Firmin the apothe- 
cary, 29 

^. pious and a ponderous citizen, 

Looking as rubicund and round 
and splendid 

As the great bottle in his own shop 
window ! 
Deacon Firmin passes. 

And here 's my host of the Three 
Mariners, 

My creditor and trusty taverner, 

My corporal in the Great Artil 
lery ! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



£>37 



He 's not a man to pass me with- 
out speaking. 
Cole looks away and passes. 
Don't yaw so ; keep your luff, old 

hypocrite ! 
Respectable, ah yes, respectable, 
You, with your seat in the new 

Meeting-house, 
Your cow-right on the Common! 

But who 's this ? 40 

I did not know the Mary Ann was 

in! 
And yet this is my old friend, 

Captain Goldsmith, 
As sure as I stand in the bilboes 

here. 
Why, Ralph, my boy ! 

Enter Ralph Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Why, Simon, is it you ? 
Set in the bilboes ? 

KEMPTHOBN. 

Chock-a-block, you see, 
And without chafing-gear. 

GOLDSMITH. 

And what 's it for ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ask that starbowline with the 

boat-hook there, 
That handsome man. 

MERRY (bowing). 

For swearing. 

KEMPTHORN. 

In this town 
They put sea-captains in the stocks 

for swearing, 
And Quakers for not swearing. 

So look out. 50 

GOLDSMITH. 

I pray you set him free ; he meant 

no harm ; 
T is an old habit he picked up 

afloat. 



MERRY. 

Well, as your time is out, you may 

come down. 
The law allows you now to go at 

large 
Like Elder Oliver's horse upon the 

Common. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now, hearties, bear a hand ! Let 
go and haul. 

Kempthorn is set free, and comes 
forward, shaking Goldsmith's 
hand. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Give me your, hand, Ralph. Ah, 

how good it feels ! 
The hand of an old friend. 

GOLDSMITH. 

God bless you, Simon ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

Now let us make a straight wake 

for the tavern 
Of the Three Mariners, Samuel 

Cole commander ; 60 

Where we can take our ease, and 

see the shipping, 
And talk about old times. 

GOLDSMITH. 

First I must pay 
My duty to the Governor, and take 

him 
His letters and dispatches. Come 

with me. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I 'd rather not. I saw him yester- 
day. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Then wait for me at the Three 
Nuns and Comb. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I thank you. That 's too near to 
the town pump. 

I will go with you to the Gov- 
ernor's, 



6 3 8 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



And wait outside there, sailing off 

and on ; 
If I am wanted, you can hoist a 

signal. 70 

MERRY. 

Shall I go with you and point out 
the way ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

Oh no, I thank you. I am not a 

stranger 
Here in your crooked little town. 

MERRY. 

How now, sir? 
Do you abuse our town ? {Exit. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Oh, no offence. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ralph, I am under bonds for a 
hundred pound. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Hard lines. What for? 

KEMPTHORN. 

To take some Quakers back 
I brought here from Barbadoes in 

the Swallow. 
And how to do it I don't clearly see, 
For one of them is banished, and 

another 
Is sentenced to be hanged ! What 

shall I do ? 80 

GOLDSMITH. 

Just slip your hawser on some 
cloudy night ; 

Sheer off, and pay it with the top- 
sail, Simon ! {Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Street in front of the 
prison. In the background a 
gateway and several flights of 
steps leading up terraces to the 
Governor's house. A pump on 
one side of the street. John 
Endicott, Merry, Upsall, 
and others. A drum beats. 



JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Oh shame, shame, shame ! 

MERRY. 

Yes, it would be a shame 
But for the damnable sin of 
Heresy ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

A woman scourged and dragged 
about our streets ! 

MERRY. 

Well, Roxbury and Dorchester 

must take 
Their share of shame. She will be 

whipped in each ! 
Three towns, and Forty Stripes 

save one ; that makes 
Thirteen in each. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And are we Jews or Christians? 

See where she comes, amid a gap- 
ing crowd ! 90 

And she a child. Oh, pitiful ! piti- 
ful! 

There 's blood upon her clothes, 
her hands, her feet ! 

Enter Marshal and a drummer \ 
Edith stripped to the waist, 
followed by the hangman with a 
scourge, and a noisy crowd. 

EDITH. 

Here let me rest one moment. I 

am tired. 
Will some one give me water ? 

MERRY. 

At his peril 

UPSALL. 

Alas ! that I should live to see this 
day! 

A WOMAN. 

Did I forsake my father and my 

mother 
And come here to New England 

to see this ? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



639 



EDITH. 


I, of the household of Iscariot, 


I am athirst. Will no one give me 


I have betrayed in thee my Lord 


water? 


and Master ! 


John endicott {making Ms way 


Wenlock Christison appears 


through the crowd with water). 


above, at the window of the 


In the Lord's name ! 


prison, stretching out his hands 




through the bars. 


edith (drinking). 




In his name I receive it ! 


CHRISTISON. 


Sweet as the water of Samaria's 


Be of good courage, my child ! 


well 100 


my child ! 


This water tastes. I thank thee. 


Blessed art thou when men shall 


Is it thou? 


persecute thee ! 


I. was afraid thou hadst deserted 


Fear not their faces, saith the 


me. 


Lord, fear not, 




For I am with thee to deliver 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


thee. 


Never will I desert thee, nor deny 




thee. 


A CITIZEN. 


Be comforted. 


Who is it crying from the prison 




yonder ? 


MERRY. 




Master Endicott, 


MERRY. 


Be careful what you say. 


It is old Wenlock Christison. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


CHRISTISON. 


Peace, idle babbler ! 


Remember 




Him who was scourged, and 


MERRY. 


mocked, and crucified ! 120 


You '11 rue these words ! 


I see his messengers attending 




thee. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Be steadfast, oh, be steadfast to 


Art thou not better now ? 


the end ! 


EDITH. 


edith (with exidtation). 


They 've struck me as with roses. 


I cannot reach thee with these 




arms, father ! 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


But closely in my soul do I em- 


Ah, these wounds ! 


brace thee 


These bloody garments ! 


And hold thee. In thy dungeon 




and thy death 


EDITH. 


I will be with thee, and will com- 


It is granted me 


fort thee ! 


To seal my testimony with my 
blood. 


MARSHAL. 




Come, put an end to this. Let the 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


drum beat. 


blood-red seal of man's vindic- 


The drum beats. Exeunt all but 


tive wrath ! 1 10 


John Endicott, Upsall, and 


t) roses of the garden of the Lord ! 


Merry. 



640 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



CHRISTISON. 

Dear child, farewell ! Never shall 

I hehold 
Thy face again with these bleared 

eyes of flesh ; 
And never wast thou fairer, love- 
lier, dearer 130 
Than now, when scourged and 

bleeding, and insulted 
For the truth's sake. O pitiless, 

pitiless town ! 
The wrath of God hangs over thee ; 

and the day 
Is near at hand when thou shalt 

be abandoned 
To desolation and the breeding of 

nettles. 
The bittern and the cormorant 

shall lodge 
Upon thine upper lintels, and their 

voice 
Sing in thy windows. Yea, thus 

saith the Lord ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Awake ! awake ! ye sleepers, ere 
too late, 139 

And wipe these bloody statutes 
from your books ! [Exit. 

MERKY. 

Take heed ; the walls have ears ! 

UPSALL. 

At last, the heart 
Of every honest man must speak 

or break ! 
Enter Governor Endicott with 
his halberdiers. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is this stir and tumult in the 
street? 

MERRY. 

Worshipful sir, the whipping of a 

girl, 
And her old father howling from 

the prison. 

endicott (to his halberdiers). 
Goon. 



CHRISTISON. 

Antiochus! Antiochusi 
O thou that slayest the Maccabees ! 

The Lord 
Shall smite thee with incurable 

disease, 
And no man shall endure to carry 

thee ! 149 

MERRY. 

Peace, old blasphemer ! 

CHRISTISON. 

I both feel and see 
The presence and the waft of death 

go forth 
Against thee, and already thou 

dost look 
Like one that 's dead ! 

merry (pointing). 
And there is your own son, 
Worshipful sir, abetting the sedi- 
tion. 

ENDICOTT. 

Arrest him. Do not spare him. 

merry (aside). 

His own child ! 
There is some special providence 

takes care 
That none shall be too happy in 

this world ! 
His own first-born. 

ENDICOTT. 

O Absalom, my son ! 

\Exeunt ; the Governor with his 
halberdiers ascending the steps 
of his house. 

Scene III. — The Governor's pri- 
vate room. Papers upon the 
table. Endicott and Bed- 

DINGHAM. 

ENDICOTT. 

There is a ship from England has 

come in, 
Bringing dispatches and much 

news from home. 160 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



641 



His Majesty was at the Abbey- 


' Trusty and well-beloved, we greet 


crowned ; 


you well;' 180 


And when the coronation was com. 


Then with a ruthless hand he 


plete 


strips from me 


There passed a mighty tempest 


All that which makes me what I 


o'er the city, 


am ; as if 


Portentous with great thunder- 


From some old general in the field, 


ings and lightnings. 


grown gray 




In service, scarred with many 


BELLINGHAM. 


wounds, 


After his father's, if I well re- 


Just at the hour of victory, he 


member, 


should strip 


There was an earthquake, that 


His badge of office and his well- 


foreboded evil. 


gained honors, 




And thrust him back into the ranks 


ENDICOTT. 


again. 


Ten of the Eegicides have been 




put to death ! 


Opens the Mandamus and hands 


The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, 


it to Bellingham ; and, while 


and Bradshaw 


he is reading, Endicott walks 


Have been dragged from their 


up and down the room. 


graves, and publicly 169 




Hanged in their shrouds at Ty- 


Here, read it for yourself ; you see 


burn. 


his words 




Are pleasant words — considerate 


BELLINGHAM. 


— not reproachful — 


Horrible ! 


Nothing could be more gentle — or 




more royal ; 190 


ENDICOTT. 


But then the meaning underneath 


Thus the old tyranny revives 


the words, 


again ! 


Mark that. He says all people 


Its arm is long enough to reach us 


known as Quakers 


here, 


Among us, now condemned to suf- 


As you will see. For, more in- 


fer death 


sulting still 


Or any corporal punishment what- 


Than flaunting in our faces dead 


ever, 


men's shrouds, 


"Who are imprisoned, or may be 


Here is the King's Mandamus, tak- 


obnoxious 


ing from us, 


To the like condemnation, shall be 


From this day forth, all power to 


sent 


punish Quakers. 


Forthwith to England, to be dealt 




with there 


BELLINGHAM. 


In such wise as shall be agree- 


That takes from us all power : we 


able 


are but puppets, 


Unto the English law and their 


And can no longer execute our 


demerits. 199 


laws. 


Is it not so ? 


ENDICOTT. 


bellingham {returning the 


His Majesty begins with pleasant 


paper). 


words, 


Ay, so the paper says. 



642 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ENDICOTT. 

It means we shall no longer rule 
the Province ; 

It means farewell to law and lib- 
erty, 

Authority, respect for Magis- 
trates, 

The peace and welfare of the Com- 
monwealth. 

If all the knaves upon this conti- 
nent 

Can make appeal to England, and 
so thwart 

The ends of truth and justice by 
delay, 

Our power is gone forever. We 
are nothing 

But ciphers, valueless save when 
we follow 

Some unit-, and our unit is the 
King! 210 

'T is he that gives us value. 

BELLINGHAM. 

I confess 
Such seems to be the meaning of 

this paper, 
But being the King's Mandamus, 

signed and sealed, 
We must obey, or we axe in rebel- 
lion. 

ENDICOTT. 

I tell you, Richard Bellingham, — 
I tell you, 

That this is the beginning of a 
struggle 

Of which no mortal can foresee 
tlie end, 

I shall not live to fight the battle 
for you, 

I am a man disgraced in every 
way; 

This order takes from me my self- 
respect 220 

And the respect of others. 'T is 
my doom, 

Yes, my death-warrant, but must 
be obeyed 1 ! 

Take it, and see that it is exe- 
cuted 



So far as this, that all be set at 

large ; 
But see that none of them be sent 

to England 
To bear false witness, and to 

spread reports 
That might be prejudicial to our- 

lExit Bellingham. 

There 's a dull pain keeps knock- 
ing at my heart, 

Dolefully saying, 'Set thy house 
in order, 

For thou shalt surely die, and 
shalt not live ! ' 230 

For me the shadow on the dial- 
plate 

Goeth not back, but on into the 
dark! [Exit. 



Scene IV. — The street. A crowd, 
reading a placard on the door 
of the Meeting-house. Nicho- 
las Upsall among them. En~ 
ter John Norton. 

NORTON. 

What is this gathering here? 

UPSALL. 

One William Brand, 
An old man like ourselves, and 

weak in body, 
Has been so cruelly tortured in 

his prison, 
The people are excited, and they 

threaten 
To tear the prison down. 

NORTON. 

What has been dtae ? 

tJPSALL. 

He has been put m utoqsv with Ms 

neck 
And heels tied dose together, and! 

so left 
From five in the morning, until; 

nine at. might. 24a 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



643 



NORTON. 


This flag of truce with Satan and 


What more was done ? 


with Sin ! 




I fling it in his face ! I trample it 


UPSALL. 


Under my feet ! It is his cunning 


He has been kept five days 


craft, 260 


In prison without food, and cruelly 


The masterpiece of his diplomacy, 


beaten, 


To cry and plead for boundless 


So that his limbs were cold, his 


toleration. 


senses stopped. 


But toleration is the first - born 




child 


NORTON. 


Of all abominations and deceits. 


What more ? 


There is no room in Christ's trium- 




phant army 


UPSALL. 


For tolerationists. And if an An- 


And is this not enough ? 


gel 




Preach any other gospel unto you 


NORTON. 


Than that ye have received, God's 


Now hear me. 


malediction 


This William Brand of yours has 


Descend upon him! Let him be 


tried to beat 


accursed ! {Exit. 


Our Gospel Ordinances black and 




blue ; 


UPSALL. 


And, if he has been beaten in like 


Now, go thy ways, John Norton ! 


manner, 


go thy ways, 270 


It is but justice, and I will appear 


Thou Orthodox Evangelist, as men 


In his behalf that did so. I suppose 


call thee ! 


That he refused to work. 


But even now there cometh out of 




England, 


UPSALL. 


Like an o'ertaking and accusing 


He was too weak. 


conscience, 


How could an old man work, when 


An outraged man, to call thee to 


he was starving? 251 


account 




For the unrighteous murder of his 


NORTON. 


son ! {Exit. 


And what is this placard ? 






Scene V. — The Wilderness. En- 


UPSALL. 


ter Edith. 


The Magistrates, 




To appease the people and pre- 


EDITH. 


vent a tumult, 


How beautiful are these autumnal 


Have put up these placards 


woods ! 


throughout the town, 


The wilderness doth blossom like 


Declaring that the jailer shalt be 


the rose, 


dealt with 


And change into a garden of the 


Impartially and sternly by the 


Lord ! 


Court. 


How silent everywhere ! Alone 

and lost 
Here in the forest, there comes 


NORTON (tearing down the pla- 


card). 


over me 280 


Down with this weak and cowardly 


An inward awfulness. I recall 


concession, 


the words 



644 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Of the Apostle Paul: 'In jour- 

neyings often, 
Often in perils in the wilderness, 
In weariness, in painfulness, in 

watchings, 
In hunger and thirst, in cold and 

nakedness ; ' 
And I forget my weariness and 

pain, 
My watchings, and my hunger and 

my thirst. 
The Lord hath said that He will 

seek his flock 
In cloudy and dark days, and they 

shall dwell 
Securely in the wilderness, and 

sleep 290 

Safe in the woods! Whichever 

way I turn, 
I come back with my face towards 

the town. 
Dimly I see it, and the sea beyond 

it. 

cruel town I I know what waits 

me there, 
And yet I must go back ; for ever 
louder 

1 hear the inward calling of the 

Spirit, 

And must obey the voice. O woods, 
that wear 

Your golden crown of martyrdom, 
blood-stained, 

From you I learn a lesson of sub- 
mission, 299 

And am obedient even unto death, 

If God so wills it. {Exit. 

JOHN endicott (within). 

Edith ! Edith ! Edith ! 

He enters. 

It is in vain ! I call, she answers 
not; 

I follow, but I find no trace of her ! 

Blood! blood! The leaves above 
me and around me 

Are red with blood! The path- 
ways of the forest, 

The clouds that canopy the setting 
sun 



And even the little river in the 
meadows 

Are stained with it ! Where'er I 
look, I see it ! 

Away, thou horrible vision ! Leave 
me ! leave me ! 

Alas ! yon winding stream, that 
gropes its way 3 10 

Through mist and shadow, dou- 
bling on itself, 

At length will find, by the unerr- 
ing law 

Of nature, what it seeks. O soul 
of man, 

Groping through mist and shadow, 
and recoiling 

Back on thyself, are, too, thy devi- 
ous ways 

Subject to law? and when thou 
seemest to wander 

The farthest from thy goal, art 
thou still drawing 

Nearer and nearer to it, till at 
length 

Thou findest, like the river, what 
thou seekest ? [Exit. 



.ACT V 

Scene 1. — Daybreak. Street in 
front of Upsall's house. A 
light in the window. Enter 
John Endicott. 

john endicott. 
O silent, sombre, and deserted 

streets, 
To me ye 're peopled with a sad 

procession, 
And echo only to the voice of sor- 
row! 
O houses full of peacefulness and 

sleep, 
Far better were it to awake no 

more 
Than wake to look upon such 

scenes again ! 
There is a light in Master Upsall's 

window. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



64S 



The good man is already risen, for 


UPSALL. 


sleep 


She is here. 


Deserts the couches of the old. 




Knocks at Upsall's door. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


UPSALL {at the window). 


Oh, do not speak that word 9 for it 
means death ! 


Who 's there ? 






UPSALL. 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


No, it means life. She sleeps in 


Am I so changed you do not 


yonder chamber. 


know my voice ? 10 


Listen to me. When news of 




Leddra's death 


UPSALL. 


Reached England, Edward Bur- 


I know you. Have you heard 


roughs, having boldly 


what things have happened ? 


Got access to the presence of the 




King, 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Told him there was a vein of inno- 


I have heard nothing. 


cent blood 




Opened in his dominions here, 


UPSALL. 


which threatened 30 


Stay ; I will come down. 


To overrun them all. The King 




replied, 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


' But I will stop that vein ! ' and 


I am afraid some dreadful news 


he forthwith 


awaits me ! 


Sent his Mandamus to our Magis. 


I do not dare to ask, yet am impa- 


trates, 


tient 


That they proceed no further in 


To know the worst. Oh, I am 


this business. 


very weary 


So all are pardoned, and all set at 


With waiting and with watching 


large. 


and pursuing ! 






JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Enter Upsall. 


Thank God ! This is a victory for 




truth ! 


UPSALL. 


Our thoughts are free. They can- 


Thank God, you have come hack ! 


not be shut up 


I 've much to tell you. 


In prison walls, nor put to death 


Where have you been ? 


on scaffolds ! 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


UPSALL. 


You know that I was seized, 


Come in ; the morning air blows 


Fined, and released again. You 


sharp and cold 


know that Edith, 


Through the damp streets. 


After her scourging in three 




towns, was banished 20 


JOHN ENDICOTT. 


Into the wilderness, into the land 


It is the dawn of day 


That is not sown ; and there I fol- 


That chases the old darkness from 


lowed her, 


our sky, 


But found her not. Where is 


And fills the land with liberty and 


she? 


light. [Exeunt. 



6 4 6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Scene II.— The parlor of the 


BUTTER. 


Three Mariners. Enter Kemp- 


Good morning, Captain Kemp. 


thorn. 


thorn. 


KEMPTHOBN. 


KEMPTHOBN. 


A dull life this, — a dull life any- 


Sir, to you. 


way ! 


You've the advantage of me. I 


Ready for sea; the cargo all 


don't know you. 


aboard, 


What may I call your name ? 


Cleared for Barbadoes, and a fair 




wind blowing 


BUTTER. 


From nor'-nor'-west ; and I, an 


That 's not your name ? 


idle lubber, 




Laid neck and heels by that con- 


KEMPTHOBN. 


founded bond ! 


Yes, that 's my name. What 's 


I said to Ralph, says I, ' What 's 


yours ? 


to be done ? ' 




Says he : ' Just slip your hawser 


BUTTEB. 


in the night ; 


My name is Butter. 


Sheer off, and pay it with the top- 


I am the treasurer of the Com- 


sail, Simon.' 50 


monwealth. 69 


But that won't do ; because, you 


KEMPTHOBN. 


see, the owners 
Somehow or other are mixed up 


Will you be seated ? 


with it. 


BUTTEB. 


Here are King Charles's Twelve 
Good Rules, that Cole 


What say? Who 's conceited? 


Thinks as important as the Rule 


KEMPTHOBN. 


of Three. 


Will you sit down ? 


Reads. 




* Make no comparisons ; make no 


BUTTEB. 


long meals.' 


Oh, thank you. 


Those are good rules and golden 




for a landlord 


KEMPTHOBN. 


To hang in his best parlor, framed 


Spread yourself 


and glazed ! 


Upon this chair, sweet Butter. 


* Maintain no ill opinions ; urge no 




healths.' 


BUTTEB {sitting down). 


I drink the King's, whatever he 


A fine morning. 


may say, 




And, as to ill opinions, that de- 


KEMPTHOBN. 


pends. 60 


Nothing 's the matter with it that 


Now of Ralph Goldsmith I 've a 


I know of. 


good opinion, 


I have seen better, and I have seen 


And of the bilboes I 've an ill 


worse. 


opinion ; 


The wind 's nor'west. That 's 


And both of these opinions I '11 


fair for them that sail. 


maintain 




As long as there 's a shot left in 


BUTTEB. 


the locker. 


You need not speak so loud; I 


Enter Edward Butter with an 


understand you. 


ear-trumpet. 


You sail to-day. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



647 



KEMPTHOEN. 


BUTTER. 


No, I don't sail to-day. 


No, all are pardoned, 


No, be it fair or foul, it matters 


All are set free, by order of the 


not. 


Court ; 


Say, will you smoke? There's 


But some of them would fain re. 


choice tobacco here. 


turn to England. 




You must not take them. Upon 


BUTTER. 


that condition 


No, thank you. It »s against the 


Your bond is cancelled. 


law to smoke. 80 






KEMPTHORN. 


KEMPTHORN. 


Ah, the wind has shifted ! 


Then, will you drink? There's 


I pray you, do you speak officially ? 


good ale at this inn. 






BUTTER. 


BUTTER. 


I always speak officially. To prove 


No, thank you. It 's against tbe 


it, 101 


law to drink. 


Here is the bond. 




Rising and giving a paper. 


KEMPTHOBN. 




Well, almost everything 's against 


KEMPTHORN". 


the law 


And here 's my hand upon it. 


In this good town. Give a wide 


And, look you, when I say I '11 do 


berth to one thing, 


a thing 


You're sure to fetch up soon on 


The thing is done. Am I now free 


something else. 


to go? 


BUTTER. 


BUTTER. 


And so you sail to-day for dear Old 


What say ? 


England. 




I am not one of those who think a 


KEMPTHORN. 


sup 


I say, confound the tedious man 


Of this New England air is better 


With his strange speaking-trum- 


worth 


pet ! Can I go ? 


Than a whole draught of our Old 




England's ale. 


BUTTER. 




You 're free to go, by order of the 


KEMPTHORN. 


Court. 


Nor I. Give me the ale and keep 


Your servant, sir. {.Exit. 


the air. go 




But, as I said, I do not sail to-day. 


KEMPTHORN (shouting from the 




window). 


BUTTER. 


Swallow, ahoy ! Hallo ! 


Ah yes ; you sail to-day. 


If ever a man was happy to leave 




Boston, 


KEMPTHORN. 


That man is Simon Kempthorn of 


I 'm under bonds 


the Swallow! no 


To take some Quakers back to tbe 




Barbadoes ; 


Reenter Butter. 


And one of them is banished, and 




another 


BUTTER. 


Is sentenced to be hanged. 


Pray, did you call ? 



648 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



KEMPTHOEN. 

Call? Yes, I hailed the Swallow. 

BUTTER. 

That 's not my name. My name is 

Edward Butter. 
You need not speak so loud. 

KEMPTHORN {shaking hands). 
Good-by ! Good-by ! 

BUTTER. 

Your servant, sir. 

KEMPTHOEN. 

And yours a thousand times ! 
{.Exeunt. 



Scene III. — Governor Endi- 
COTT'S private room. An open 
window. Endicott seated in 
an arm-chair. Bellingham 
standing near. 

ENDICOTT. 

O lost, O loved! wilt thou return 

no more ? 
O loved and lost, and loved the 

more when lost ! 
How many men are dragged into 

their graves 
By their rebellious children! I 

now feel 
The agony of a father's breaking 

heart 
In David's cry, 'O Absalom, my 

son!' 120 

BELLINGHAM. 

Can you not turn your thoughts a 
little while 

To public matters ? There are pa- 
pers here 

That need attention. 

ENDICOTT. 

Trouble me no more ! 
My business now is with another 
world. 



Ah, Eichard Bellingham ! I greatly 

fear 
That in my righteous zeal I have 

been led 
To doing many things which, left 

undone, 
My mind would now be easier. 

Did I dream it, 
Or has some person told me, that 

John Norton 
Is dead ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

You have not dreamed it. He is 
dead, 130 

And gone to his reward. It was 
no dream. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then it was very sudden; for I 

saw him 
Standing where you now stand, not 

long ago. 

BELLINGHAM. 

By his own fireside, in tbe after- 
noon, 

A faintness and a giddiness came 
o'er him ; 

And, leaning on tbe chimney- 
piece, he cried, 

' The hand of God is on me ! ' and 
fell dead. 

ENDICOTT. 

And did not some one say, or have 

I dreamed it, 
That Humphrey Atherton is dead ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

Alas ! 
He too is gone, and by a death as 

sudden. 140 

Returning home one evening, at 

the place 
Where usually the Quakers have 

been scourged, 
His horse took fright, and threw 

him to the ground, 
So that his brains were dashed 

about the street. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



649 



ENDICOTT. 


To England to malign us with the 


I am not superstitious, Belling- 

ham, 
And yet I tremble lest it may have 

beeu 


King? 


BELLINGHAM. 

The ship that brought them sails 


A judgment on him. 


this very hour, 




But carries no one back. 


BELLINGHAM. 


A distant cannon. 


So the people think. 




They say his horse saw standing 


ENDICOTT. 


in the way 


What is that gun . 


The ghost of William Leddra, and 




was frightened. 


BELLINGHAM. 


And furthermore, brave Richard 


Her parting signal. Through the 


Davenport, 150 


window there, 


The captain of the Castle, in the 


Look, you can see her sails, above 


storm 


the roofs, 


Has been struck dead by lightning. 


Dropping below the Castle, out- 




ward bound. 


ENDICOTT. 




Speak no more. 


ENDICOTT. 


For as I listen to your voice it 


white, white, white ! Would 


seems 


that my soul had wings 170 


As if the Seven Thunders uttered 


As spotless as those shining sails 


their voices, 


to fly with ! 


And the dead bodies lay about the 


Now lay this cushion straight. I 


streets 


thank you. Hark ! 


Of the disconsolate city ! Belling- 


I thought I heard the hall door 


ham, 


open and shut ! 


I did not put those wretched men 


I thought I heard the footsteps of 


to death. 


my boy ! 


I did but guard the passage with 




the sword 


BELLINGHAM. 


Pointed towards them, and they 


It was the wind. There 's no one 


rushed upon it ! 


in the passage. 


Yet now I would that I had taken 




no part 160 


ENDICOTT. 


In all that bloody work. 


Absalom, my son! I feel the 

world 
Sinking beneath me, sinking, sink- 


BEDLINGHAM. 


The guilt of it 


ing, sinking ! 


Be on their heads, not ours. 


Death knocks ! I go to meet him • 




Welcome, Death ! 


ENDICOTT. 




Are all set free ? 


Rises, and sinks back dead; his 




head falling aside upon his 


BELLINGHAM. 


shoulder. 


Ml are at large. 






BELLINGHAM. 


ENDICOTT. 


ghastly sight! Like one who 


And none have been sent back 


has been hanged ! 



650 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Endicott! Endicott! He makes 
no answer ! 180 

Raises Endicott's head. 

He breathes no more ! How bright 
this signet-ring 

Glitters upon his hand, where he 
has worn it 

Through such long years of trou- 
ble, as if Death 

Had given him this memento of 
affection, 

And whispered in his ear, 'Re- 
member me ! ' 

How placid and how quiet is his 
face, 

Now that the struggle and the 
strife are ended ! 

Only the acrid spirit of the times 

Corroded this true steel. Oh, rest 
in peace, 

Courageous heart! Forever rest 
in peace ! 190 

GILES COREY OF THE SALEM 
FARMS 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Giles Corby . . Farmer. 
John Hathoenb . Magistrate. 
Cotton Mathbe . Minister of the Gos- 
pel. 
Jonathan Walcot A youth. 
Richard Gardner Sea- Captain. 
John Gloyd . . Corey's hired man. 
Martha. . . . Wife of Giles Corey. 
Tituba .... An Indian woman. 
Mary Walcot . One of the Afflicted. 

The Scene is in Salem in the year 1692. 
PROLOGUE 

Delusions of the days that once 

have been, 
Witchcraft and wonders of the 

world unseen, 
Phantoms of air, and necromantic 

arts 
That crushed the weak and awed 

the stoutest hearts, — 
These are our theme to-night ; and 

vaguely here, 



Through the dim mists that crowd 

the atmosphere, 
We draw the outlines of weird 

figures cast 
In shadow on the background of 

the Past. 

Who would believe that in the 

quiet town 
Of Salem, and amid the woods that 

crown 10 

The neighboring hillsides, and the 

sunny farms 
That fold it safe in their paternal 

arms, — 
Who would believe that in those 

peaceful streets, 
Where the great elms shut out the 

summer heats, 
Where quiet reigns, and breathes 

through brain and breast 
The benediction of unbroken 

rest, — 
Who would believe such deeds 

could find a place 
As these whose tragic history we 

retrace ? 

'T was but a village then: the 

goodman ploughed 
His ample acres under sun or 

cloud ; 20 

The goodwife at her doorstep sat 

and spun, 
And gossiped with her neighbors 

in the sun ; 
The only men of dignity and state 
Were then the Minister and the 

Magistrate, 
Who ruled their little realm with 

iron rod, 
Less in the love than in the fear 

of God ; 
And who believed devoutly in the 

Powers 
Of Darkness, working in this 

world of ours, 
In spells of Witchcraft, incanta- 
tions dread, 
And shrouded apparitions of the 

dead. 3<? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



651 



Upon this simple folk ' with fire 

and flame,' 
Saith the old Chronicle, ' the Devil 

came; 
Scattering his firebrands and his 

poisonous darts, 
To set on fire of Hell all tongues 

and hearts ! 
And 't is no wonder ; for, with all 

his host, 
There most he rages where he 

hateth most, 
And is most hated; so on us he 

brings 
All these stupendous and portent- 
ous things ! ' 

Something of this our scene to- 
night will show ; 
And ye who listen to the Tale of 

Woe, 40 

Be not too swift in casting the first 

stone, 
Nor think New England bears the 

guilt alone. 
This sudden burst of wickedness 

and crime 
Was but the common madness of 

the time, 
When in all lands, that lie within 

the sound 
Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was 

burned or drowned. 



ACT I 

Scene I. — The woods near Sa- 
lem Village. Enter Tituba, 
with a basket of herbs. 

TITUBA. 

Here 's monk's-hood, that breeds 

fever in the blood ; 
And deadly nightshade, that 

makes men see ghosts ; 
And henbane, that will shake them 

with convulsions ; 
And meadow-saffron and black 

hellebore, 
That rack the nerves, and puff the 

skin with dropsy ; 



And bitter-sweet, and briony, and 

eyebright, 
That cause eruptions, nosebleed, 

rheumatisms ; 
I know them, and the places 

where they hide 
In field and meadow ; and I know 

their secrets, 
And gather them because they 

give me power 10 

Over all men and women. Armed 

with these, 
I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave, 
Am stronger than the captain with 

his sword, 
Am richer than the merchant with 

his money, 
Am wiser than the scholar with 

his books, 
Mightier than Ministers and Ma- 
gistrates, 
With all the fear and reverence 

that attend them ! 
For I can fill their bones with 

aches and pains, 
Can make them cough with asth- 
ma, shake with palsy, 
Can make their daughters see and 

talk with ghosts, 20 

Or fall into delirium and convul 

sions. 
I have the Evil Eye, the Evil 

Hand ; 
A touch from me and they are 

weak with pain, 
A look from me, and they consume 

and die. 
The death of cattle and the blight 

of corn, 
The shipwreck, the tornado, and 

the fire,— 
These are my doings, and they 

know it not. 
Thus I work vengeance on mine 

enemies, 
Who, while they call me slave, are 

slaves to me ! 

Exit Tituba. Enter Mather, 
booted and sptirred, with a rid- 
ing-whip in his hand. 



6$2 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



MATHER. 

Methinks that I have come by 

paths unknown 30 

Into the land and atmosphere of 

Witches j 
For, meditating as I journeyed on, 
Lo ! I have lost my way ! If I re- 
member 
Rightly, it is Scribonius the 

learned 
That tells the story of a man who, 

praying 
For one that was possessed by 

Evil Spirits, 
Was struck by Evil Spirits in the 

face; 
I, journeying to circumvent the 

Witches, 
Surely by Witches have been led 

astray. 
I am persuaded there are few 

affairs 40 

In which the Devil doth not inter- 
fere. 
We cannot undertake a journey 

even, 
But Satan will be there to meddle 

with it 
By hindering or by furthering. He 

hath led me 
Into this thicket, struck me in the 

face 
With branches of the trees, and so 

entangled 
The fetlocks of my horse with 

vines and brambles, 
That I must needs dismount, and 

search on foot 
For the lost pathway leading to 

the village. 

Reenter Tituba. 
What shape is this? What mon- 
strous apparition, 50 
Exceeding fierce, that none may 

pass that way ? 
Tell me, good woman, if you are a 

woman — 

TITUBA. 

I am a woman, but I am not good. 
I am a Witch l 



MATHER. 

Then tell me, Witch and woman, 
For you must know the pathways 

through this wood, 
Where lieth Salem Village ? 

TITUBA. 

Reverend sir, 
The village is near by. I 'm goins 

there 
With these few herbs. I'll leaf'. 

you. Follow me. 

MATHER. 

First say, who are you? I am 

loath to follow 
A stranger in this wilderness, for 

fear 60 

Of being misled, and left in some 

morass. 
Who are you ? 

TITUBA. 

I am Tituba the Witch, 
Wife of John Indian. 

MATHER. 

You are Tituba ? 

I know you then. You have re- 
nounced the Devil, 

And have become a penitent con- 
fessor. 

The Lord be praised ! Go on, I '11 
follow you. 

Wait only till I fetch my horse, 
that stands 

Tethered among the trees, not far 
from here. 

TITUBA. 

Let me get up behind you, reverend 
sir. 

MATHER. 

The Lord forbid ! What would the 
people think, 70 

If they should see the Reverend 
Cotton Mather 

Ride into Salem with a Witch be- 
hind him ? 

The Lord forbid I 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



653 



TITUBA. 

I do not need a horse ! 

I can ride through the air upon a 
stick, 

Above the tree-tops and above the 
houses, 

And no one see me, no one over- 
take me ! [Exeunt. 



Scene II.— A room at Justice 
Hathorne's. A clock in the 
corner. Enter Hathorne and 
Mather. 

hathoene. 
You are welcome, reverend sir, 

thrice welcome here 
Beneath my humble roof. 

MATHER. 

I thank your Worship. 

HATHOENE. 

Pray you be seated. You must be 
fatigued 

With your long ride through un- 
frequented woods. 80 
They sit down. 

MATHER. 

You know the purport of my visit 

here,— 
To be advised by you, and counsel 

with you, 
And with the Reverend Clergy of 

the village, 
Touching these witchcrafts that so 

much afflict you ; 
And see with mine own eyes the 

wonders told 
Of spectres and the shadows of 

the dead, 
That come back from their graves 

to speak with men. 

HATKORNE. 

Some men there are, I have known 

such, who think 
That the two worlds — the seen 

and the unseen, 



The world of matter and the world 
of spirit — go 

Are like the hemispheres upon our 
maps, 

And touch each other only at a 
point. 

But these two worlds are not 
divided thus, 

Save for the purposes of common 
speech. 

They form one globe, in which the 
parted seas 

All flow together and are inter- 
mingled, 

While the great continents remain 
distinct. 

MATHER. 

I doubt it not. The spiritual 

world 
Lies all about us, and its avenues 
Are open to the unseen feet of 

phantoms 100 

That come and go, and we per- 

. ceive them not, 
Save by their influence, or when at 

times 
A most mysteiious Providence 

permits them 
To manifest themselves to mortal 

eyes. 

HATHORNE. 

You, who are always welcome here 

among us, 
Are doubly welcome now. We 

need your wisdom, 
Your learning in these things, to 

be our guide. 
The Devil hath come down in 

wrath upon us, 
And ravages the land with all his 

hosts. 

MATHER. 

The Unclean Spirit said, * My 
name is Legion ! ' no 

Multitudes in the Valley of De- 
struction ! 

But when our fervent, well-directed 
prayers, 



654 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Which are the great artillery of 
Heaven, 

Are brought into the field, I see 
them scattered 

And driven like autumn leaves be- 
fore the wind. 

HATHOENE. 

You, as a Minister of God, can 

meet them 
With spiritual weapons ; but, alas ! 
I, as a Magistrate, must combat 

them 
With weapons from the armory of 

the flesh. 

MATHER. 

These wonders of the world in- 
visible, — 1 20 

These spectral shapes that haunt 
our habitations, — 

The multiplied and manifold afflic- 
tions 

With which the aged and the dying 
saints 

Have their death prefaced and 
their age imbittered, — 

Are but prophetic trumpets that 
proclaim 

The Second Coming of our Lord on 
earth. 

The evening wolves will be much 
more abroad, 

When we are near the evening of 
the world. 

HATHOEKE. 

When you shall see, as I have 

hourly seen, 
The sorceries and the witchcrafts 

that torment us, 130 

See children tortured by invisible 

spirits, 
And wasted and consumed by 

powers unseen, 
You will confess the half has not 

been told you. 

MATHER. 

It must be so. The death-pangs 
of the Devil 



Will make him more a Devil than 

before ; 
And Nebuchadnezzar's furnace 

will be heated 
Seven times more hot before its 

putting out. 

HATHOENE. 

Advise me, reverend sir. I look to 

you 
For counsel and for guidance in 

this matter. 
What further shall we do ? 

MATHER. 

Eemember this, 

That as a sparrow falls not to the 
ground 141 

Without the will of God, so not a 
Devil 

Can come down from the air with- 
out his leave. 

We must inquire. 

HATHOENE. 

Dear sir, we have inquired ; 
Sifted the matter thoroughly 

through and through, 
And then re sifted it. 

MATHER. 

If God permits 

These Evil Spirits from the unseen 
regions 

To visit us with surprising infor- 
mations, 

We must inquire what cause there 
is for this, 

But not receive the testimony 
borne 150 

By spectres as conclusive proof of 
guilt 

In the accused. 

HATHORNE. 

Upon such evidence 
We do not rest our case. The 

ways are many 
In which the guilty do betray 

themselves. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



655 



MATHER. 


HATHORNE. 


Be careful. Carry the knife with 


Then let usjnake all haste ; and I 
will show you 


such exactness, 


That on one side no innocent blood 


In what disguises and what fear- 


be shed 


ful shapes 


By too excessive zeal, and on the 


The Unclean Spirits haunt this 


other 


neighborhood, 180 


No shelter given to any work of 


And you will pardon my excess of 


darkness. 


zeal. 


HATHORNE. 


MATHER. 


For one, I do not fear excess of 


Ah, poor New England ! He who 


zeal. 


hurricanoed 


What do we gain by parleying with 


The house of Job is making now 


the Devil? 160 


on thee 


You reason, but you hesitate to 


One last assault, more deadly and 


act! 


more snarled 


Ah, reverend sir! believe me, in 


With unintelligible circumstances 


such cases 


Than any thou hast hitherto en- 


The only safety is in acting 


countered ! [Exeunt. 


promptly. 




'T is not the part of wisdom to de- 




lay 


Sceke III. — A room in Wal- 


In things where not to do is still 


cot's house. Mary Walcot 


to do 


seated in an arm-chair. Ti- 


A deed more fatal than the deed 


tttba with a mirror. 


we shrink from. 




You are a man of books and medi- 


MARY. 


tation, 


Tell me another story, Tituba. 


But I am one who acts. 


A drowsiness is stealing over 


MATHER. 


me 
Which is not sleep ; for, though I 


God give us wisdom 


close mine eyes, 


In the directing of this thorny 


I am awake, and in another world. 


business, 


Dim faces of the dead and of the 


And guide us, lest New England 


absent 191 


should become 170 


Come floating up before me,— 


Of an unsavory and sulphurous 


floating, fading, 


odor 


And disappearing. 


In the opinion of the world abroad ! 




The clock strikes. 


TITUBA. 


I never hear the striking of a clock 


Look into this glass. 


Without a warning and an admoni- 
tion 
That time is on the wing, and we 


What see you? 


MARY. 


must quicken 


Nothing but a golden vapor. 


Our tardy pace in journeying 


Yes, something more. An island, 


Heavenward, 


with the sea 


As Israel did in journeying 


Breaking all round it, like a bloom- 


Canaan-ward ! 


ing hedge. 


They rise. 


What land is this ? 



656 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



TITUBA. 


I am too weak to bear it ! I am 


It is San Salvador, 


dying. 


Where Tituba was born. What 


Falls into a trance. 


see you now ? 






TITUBA. 


MARY. 


Hark ! there is some one coming ! 


A man all black and fierce. 


Enter Hathorne, Mather, and 




Walcot. 


TITUBA. 




That is my father. 


WALCOT. 


He was an Obi man, and taught 


There she lies, 


me magic, — 200 


Wasted and worn by devilish in- 


Taught me the use of herbs and 


cantations ! 


images. 


my poor sister ! 


What is he doing? 






MATHER. 


MARY. 


Is she always thus ? 


Holding in his hand 




A waxen figure. He is melting it 


WALCOT. 


Slowly before a fire. 


Nay, she is sometimes tortured by 




convulsions. 


TITUBA. 




And now what see you ? 


MATHER. 




Poor child! How thin she is! 


MARY. 


How wan and wasted ! 220 


A woman lying on a bed of leaves, 




Wasted and worn away. Ah, she 


HATHOENE. 


is dying! 


Observe her. She is troubled in 




her sleep. 


TITUBA. 




That is the way the Obi men de- 


MATHER. 


stroy 


Some fearful vision haunts her. 


The people they dislike ! That is 




the way 


HATHORNE. 


Some one is wasting and consum- 


You now see 


ing you. 


With your own eyes, and touch 




with your own hands, 


MARY. 


The mysteries of this Witchcraft. 


You terrify me, Tituba ! Oh, save 




me 210 


MATHER. 


From those who make me pine 


One would need 


and waste away ! 


The hands of Briareus and the 


Who are they ? Tell me. 


eyes of Argus 




To see and touch them all. 


TITUBA. 




That I do not know, 


HATHORNE. 


But you will see them. They will 


You now have entered 


come to you. 


The realm of ghosts and phan- 




toms, — the vast realm 


MARY. 


Of the unknown and the invisible, 


No, do not let them come ! I can- 


Through whose wide-open gates 


not bear it ! 


there blows a wind 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



657 



From the dark valley of the shad- 
ow of Death, 230 
That freezes us with horror. 

mary (starting). 

Take her hence ! 
Take her away from me. I see 

her there ! 
She 's coming to torment me ! 

WALCOT (taking her hand). 

O my sister ! 
What frightens you? She neither" 

hears nor sees me. 
She 's in a trance. 

MARY. 

Do you not see her there ? 

TITUBA. 

My child, who is it? 

MARY. 

Ah, I do not know. 
I cannot see her face. 

TITUBA. 

How is she clad ? 

MARY. 

She wears a crimson bodice. In 
her hand 

She holds an image, and is pinch- 
ing it 

Between her fingers. Ah, she tor- 
tures me ! 240 

I see her face now. It is Good- 
wife Bishop ! 

Why does she torture me ? I never 
harmed her ! 

And now she strikes me with an 
iron rod ! 

Oh, I am beaten ! 

MATHER. 

This is wonderful ! 

I can see nothing ! Is this appari- 
tion 

Visibly there, and yet we cannot 
see it>? 



HATHORNE. 

It is. The spectre is invisible 
Unto our grosser senses, but she 
sees it. 

MARY. 

Look ! look ! there is another clad 
in gray ! 

She holds a spindle in her hand, 
and threatens 250 

To stab me with it! It is Good- 
wife Corey ! 

Keep her away ! Now she is com- 
ing at me ! 

O mercy ! mercy ! 

WALCOT (thrusting with his 
sword). 
There is nothing there ! 

MATHER (to HATHORNE). 

Do you see anything ? 

HATHORNE. 

The laws that govern 
The spiritual world prevent our 

seeing 
Things palpable and visible to her. 
These spectres are to us as if they 

were not. 
Mark her ; she wakes. 
Tituba touches her, and she 
awakes. 

MARY. 

Who are these gentlemen ? 

WALCOT. 

They are our friends. Dear Mary, 
are you better? 

MARY. 

Weak, very weak. 
Taking a spindle from her lap, 
and holding it up. 
How came this spindle here ? 

TITUBA. 

You wrenched it from the hand of 
Good wife Corey 261 

When she rushed at you. 



658 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHORNE. 

Mark that, reverend sir ! 

MATHER. 

It is most marvellous, most inex- 
plicable ! 

riTUBA {picking up a bit of gray 
cloth from the floor). 

A.nd here, too, is a bit of her gray 
dress, 

That the sword cut away. 

MATHER. 

Beholding this, 
It were indeed by far more cred- 
ulous 
To be incredulous than to be- 
lieve. 
None but a Sadducee, who doubts 

of all 
Pertaining to the spiritual world, 
Could doubt such manifest and 
damning proofs ! 270 

HATHORNE. 

Are you convinced ? 

MATHER {to MARY). 

Dear child, be comforted ! 
Only by prayer and fasting can 

you drive 
These Unclean Spirits, from you. 

An old man 
Gives you his blessing. God be 

with you, Mary ! 



ACT II 

Scene I. — Giles Corey's farm. 
Morning. Enter Corey, with a 
horseshoe and a hammer. 

COREY. 

The Lord hath prospered me. The 

rising sun 
Shines on my Hundred Acres and 

my woods 
As if he loved them. On a morn 

like this 



I can forgive mine enemies, and 

thank God 
For all his goodness unto me and 

mine. 
My orchard groans with russets 

and pearmains ; 
My ripening corn shines golden in 

the sun ; 
My barns are crammed with hay 

my cattle thrive ; 
The birds sing blithely on the 

trees around me ! 
And blither than the birds my 

heart within me. 10 

But Satan still goes up and down 

the earth ; 
And to protect this house from his 

assaults, 
And keep the powers of darkness 

from my door, 
This horseshoe will I nail upon 

the threshold. 
Nails doivn the horseshoe. 
There, ye night-hags and witches 

that torment 
The neighborhood, ye shall not 

enter here ! — 
What is the matter in the field? — 

John Gloyd ! 
The cattle are all running to the 

woods ! — 
John Gloyd ! Where is the man ? 

Enter John Gloyd. 

Look there ! 
What ails the cattle? Are they 
all bewitched? 20 

They run like mad. 

GLOYD. 

They have been overlooked. 

COREY. 

The Evil Eye is on them sure 

enough. 
Call all the men. Be quick. Go 

after them ! 
Exit Gloyd and enter Martha. 

MARTHA. 

What is amiss? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



659 



COREY. 

The cattle are bewitched. 
They are broken loose and mak- 
ing for the woods. 

MARTHA. 

Why will you harbor such delu- 
sions, Giles ? 

Bewitched ? Well, then it was 
John Gloyd bewitched them ; 

I saw him even now take down 
the bars 

And turn them loose! They're 
only frolicsome. 



COREY. 



The rascal ! 



MARTHA. 

I was standing in the road, 

Talking with Goodwife Proctor, 

and I saw him. 31 

COREY. 

With Proctor's wife? And what 
says Goodwife Proctor ? 

MARTHA. 

Sad things indeed; the saddest 

you can hear 
Of Bridget Bishop. She 's cried 

out upon ! 

COREY. 

Poor soul I I 've known her forty 

year or more. 
She was tbe widow Wasselby: 

and then 
She married Oliver, and Bishop 

next. 
She 's had three husbands. I re- 
member well 
My games of shovel -board at 

Bishop's tavern 
In the old merry days, and she so 

gay 40 

With her red paragon bodice and 

her ribbons ! 
Ah, Bridget Bishop always was a 

Witch! 



MARTHA. 

They'll little help her now, — her 

caps and ribbons, 
And her red paragon bodice, and 

her plumes, 
With which she flaunted in the 

Meeting-house ! 
When next she goes there, it will 

be for trial. 

COREY. 

When will that be ? 

MARTHA. 

This very day at ten. 

COREY. 

Then get you ready. We will go 

and see it. 
Come; you shall ride behind me 

en the pillion. 

MARTHA. 

Not I. You know I do not like 
such things. 50 

I wonder you should. I do not be- 
lieve 

In Witches nor in Witchcraft. 

COREY. 

Well, I do. 
There 's a strange fascination in it 

all, 
That draws me on and on, I know 

not why. 

MARTHA. 

What do we know of spirits good 

or ill, 
Or of their power to help us or to 

harm us ? 

COREY. 

Surely what 's in the Bible must 

be true. 
Did not an Evil Spirit come on 

Saul ? 
Did not the Witch of Endor bring 

the ghost 
Of Samuel from his grave? The 

Bible says so. 60 



66o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MARTHA. 

That happened very long ago. 



With God 



There is no long ago. 



MARTHA. 

There is with vs. 

COREY. 

And Mary Magdalene had seven 

devils, 
And he who dwelt among the 

tombs a legion ! 

MARTHA. 

God's power is infinite. I do not 
doubt it. 

If in His providence He once per- 
mitted 

Such things to be among the Is- 
raelites, 

It does not follow He permits 
them now, 

And among us who are not Israel- 
ites. 

But we will not dispute about it, 
Giles. 70 

Go to the village, if you think it 
best, 

And leave me here ; I '11 go about 
my work. 

{Exit into the house. 

COREY. 

And I will go and saddle the gray 

mare. 
The last word always. That is 

woman's nature. 
If an old man will marry a young 

wife, 
He must make up his mind to 

many things. 
It 's putting new cloth into an old 

garment, 
When the strain comes, it is the 

old gives way. 

Goes to the door. 
Oh Martha! I forgot to tell you 

something. 



I 've had a letter from a friend of 
mine, 80 

A certain Richard Gardner of Nan- 
tucket, 

Master and owner of a whaling- 
vessel ; 

He writes that he is coming down 
to see us. 

I hope you '11 like him. 

MARTHA. 

I will do my best. 

COREY. 

That 's a good woman. Now I will 

be gone. 
I 've not seen Gardner for this 

twenty year ; 
But there is something of the sea 

about him, — 
Something so open, generous, 

large, and strong, 
It makes me love him better than 

a brother. [Exit. 

Martha comes to the door. 

MARTHA. 

Oh these old friends and cronies 

of my husband, 90 

These captains from Nantucket 

and the Cape, 
That come and turn my house into 

a tavern 
With their carousing ! Still, there 's 

something frank 
In these seafaring men that makes 

me like them. 
Why, here 's a horseshoe nailed 

upon the doorstep ! 
Giles has done this to keep away 

the Witches. 
I hope this Richard Gardner will 

bring with him 
A gale of good sound common- 
sense to blow 
The fog of these delusions from 

his brain ! 99 

corey (within). 
Ho! Martha! Martha! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



661 



Enter Corey. 


If an old man will marry a young 


Have you seen my saddle ? 


wife, 




Why then — why then— why then 


MARTHA. 


— he must spell Baker ! 


I saw it yesterday. 


Enter Martha with the saddle, 


COREY. 


which she throws down. 


Where did you see it? 


MARTHA. 




There ! There 's the saddle. 


MARTHA. 




On a gray mare, that somebody 


COREY. 


was riding 


Take it up. 


Along the village road. 






MARTHA. 


COREY. 


I wont! 


Who was it? Tell me. 






COREY. 


MARTHA. 


Then let it lie there. I '11 ride to 


Some one who should have stayed 


the village, 


at home. 


And say you are a Witch. 


COREY (restraining himself). 


MARTHA. 


I see ! 


No, not that, Giles. 


Don't vex me, Martha. Tell me 




where it is. 


She takes up the saddle. 


MARTHA. 


COREY. 


I 've hidden it away. 


Now come with me, and saddle 




the gray mare 


COREY. 


With your own hands; and you 




shall see me ride 


Go fetch it me. 


Along the village road as is he- 


MARTHA. 


coming 119 




Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, 


Go find it. 


your husband ! {Exeunt. 


COREY. 




No. I '11 ride down to the village 


Scene II. — The Green in front 


Bare-hack; and when the people 


of the Meeting-house in Salem 


stare and say, 


Village. People coming and go- 


6 Giles Corey, where 's your sad- 


ing. Enter Giles Corey. 


dle ? ' I will answer, 




'A Witch has stolen it.' How 


COREY. 


shall you like that ? 1 10 


A melancholy end! Who would 




have thought 


MARTHA. 


That Bridget Bishop e'er would 


I shall not like it. 


come to this ? 




Accused, convicted, and con- 


COREY. 


demned to death 


Then go fetch the saddle. 


For Witchcraft! And so good a 


{Exit MARTHA. 


woman too I 



662 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



A FARMER. 

Good morrow, neighbor Corey. 

COREY (not hearing him). 

"Who is safe ? 
How do I know but under my own 

roof 
I too may harbor Witches, and 

some Devil 
Be plotting and contriving against 
me? 

FARMER. 

He does not hear. Good morrow, 
neighbor Corey ! 

COREY. 

Good morrow. 

FARMER. 

Have you seen John Proctor late- 
ly? 130 

COREY. 

No, I have not. 

FARMER. 

Then do not see him, Corey. 

COREY. 

Why should I not? 

FARMER. 

Because he 's angry with you. 
So keep out of his way. Avoid a 
quarrel. 

COREY. 

Why does he seek to fix a quarrel 
on me? 

FARMER. 

He says you burned his house. 

COREY. 

I burn his house ? 
If he says that, John Proctor is a 

liar! 
The night his house was burned I 

was in bed, 



And I can prove it ! Why, we are 

old friends ! 
He could not say that of me. 

FARMER. 

He did say it. 
I heard him say it. 

COREY. 

Then he shall unsay it. 

FARMER. 

He said you did it out of spite to 

him 141 

For taking part against you in the 

quarrel 
You had with your John Gloyd 

about his wages. 
He says you murdered Goodell; 

that you trampled 
Upon his body till he breathed no 

more. 
And so beware of him ; that 's my 

advice ! [Exit. 

COREY. 

By Heaven ! this is too much ! I '11 
seek him out, 

And make him eat his words, or 
strangle him. 

I '11 not be slandered at a time 
like this, 

When every word is made an ac- 
cusation, 150 

When every whisper kills, and 
every man 

Walks with a halter round his 
neck ! 

Enter Gloyd in haste. 

What now ? 



I came to look for you. The cat- 
tle— 

COREY. 

Well, 
What of them ? Have you found 
them? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



663 



GLCYD. 


Something has gone amiss with 


They are dead. 


him to-day ; 


I followed them through the 


I know it by his step, and by the 


woods, across the meadows ; 


sound 


Then they all leaped into the Ip- 


The door made as he shut it. He 


swich River, 


is angry. 


And swam across, but could not 




climb the bank, 


Enter Corey with his riding- 


And so were drowned. 


whip. As he speaks he takes off 




his hat and gloves, and throws 


COREY. 


them down violently. 


You are to blame for this ; 




For you took down the bars, and 


COREY. 


let them loose. 


I say if Satan ever entered man 




He 's in John Proctor I 


GLOYD. 




That I deny. They broke the 


MARTHA. 


fences down. 160 


Giles, what is the matter? 


You know they were bewitched. 


You frighten me. 


COREY. 


COREY. 


Ah, my poor cattle ! 
The Evil Eye was on them; that 


I say if any man 
Can have a Devil in him, then that 


is true. 


man 


Day of disaster! Most unlucky 


Is Proctor, — is John Proctor, and 


day! 


no other • 


"Why did I leave my ploughing and 




my reaping 


MARTHA. 


To plough and reap this Sodom 
and Gomorrah ? 


Why, what has he been doing? 


Oh, I could drown myself for sheer 


COREY. 


vexation ! {Exit. 






Everything ! 


GLOYD. 


What do you think I heard there 


He's going for his cattle. He 


in the village ? 181 


won't find them. 




By this time they have drifted out 


MARTHA. 


to sea. 


I'm sure I cannot guess. What 


They will not break his fences any 


did you hear? 


more, 
Though they may break his heart. 


COREY. 


And what care 1 ? {Exit. 


He says I burned his house ! 




MARTHA. 


Scene III. — Corey's kitchen. 


Does he say that? 


A table with supper. Martha 




knitting. 


COREY. 




He says I burned his house. I 


MARTHA. 


was in bed 


He's come at last. I hear him in 


And fast asleep that night ; and I 


the passage. 171 


can prove it. 



66 4 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



MARTHA. 


MARTHA. 


If he says that, I think the Father 


Oh, that is false. I know it to be 


of Lies 


false. 


Is surely in the man. 






COREY. 


CORBY. 


He has been dead these fourteen 


He does say that, 


years or more. 


And that I did it to wreak ven- 


Why can't they let him rest? Why 


geance on him 


must they drag him 


For taking sides against me in the 


Out of his grave to give me a bad 


quarrel 


name? 


I had with that John Gloyd about 


I did not kill him. In his bed he 


his wages. 190 


died, 


And God knows that I never bore 


As most men die, because his hour 


him malice 


had come. 


For that, as I have told him twenty 


I have wronged no man. Why 


times ! 


should Proctor say 210 




Such things about me ? I will not 


MARTHA. 


forgive him 


It is John Gloyd has stirred him 


Till he confesses he has slandered 


up to this. 


me. 


I do not like that Gloyd. I think 


Then, I 've more trouble. All my 


him crafty, 


cattle gone. 


Not to be trusted, sullen, and un- 




truthful. 


MARTHA. 


Come, have your supper. You are 


They will come back again. 


tired and hungry. 






COREY. 


COREY. 


Not in this world. 


I 'm angry, and not hungry. 


Did I not tell you they were over- 




looked ? 


MARTHA. 


They ran down through the woods, 


Do eat something. 


into the meadows, 


You '11 be the better for it. 


And tried to swim the river, and 




were drowned. 


corey {sitting down). 


It is a heavy loss. 


I 'm not hungry. 






MARTHA. 


MARTHA. 


I 'm sorry for ii 


Let not the sun go down upon your 




wrath. 


COREY. 




All my dear oxen dead. I loved 


COREY. 


them, Martha, 


It has gone down upon it, and will 


Next to yourself. I liked to look 


rise 200 


at them, 220 


To-morrow, and go down again 


And watch the breath come out of 


upon it. 


their wide nostrils, 


They have trumped up against me 


And see their patient eyes. Some- 


the old story 


how I thought 


Of causing Goodell's death by 


It gave me strength only to look at 


trampling on him. 


them. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



65s 



And how they strained their necks 


In the back yard alone ! What 


against the yoke 


should I fear ? 


If I but spoke, or touched them 


She started from the bushes by 


with the goad ! 


the path, 


They were my friends ; and when 


And had a basket full of herbs and 


Gloyd came and told me 


roots 


They were all drowned, I could 


For some witch-broth or other, — 


have drowned myself 


the old hag ! 


From sheer vexation; and I said 




as much 


MARTHA. 


To Gloyd and others. 


She has been here to-day. 


MARTHA. 


COREY. 


Do not trust John Gloyd 


With hand outstretched 


With anything you would not have 


She said : ' Giles Corey, will you 


repeated. 230 


sign the Book ? ' 250 




' Avaunt ! ' I cried : ' Get thee be- 


COREY. 


hind me, Satan ! ' 


As I came through the woods this 


At which she laughed and left me. 


afternoon, 


But a voice 


Impatient at my loss, and much 


Was whispering in my ear contin- 


perplexed 


ually : 


With all that I had heard there in 


'Self-murder is no crime. The 


the village, 


life of man 


The yellow leaves lit up the trees 


Is his, to keep it or to throw 


about me 


away ! ' 


Like an enchanted palace, and I 




wished 


MARTHA. 


I knew enough of magic or of 


'T was a temptation of the Evil 


Witchcraft 


One! 


To change them into gold. Then 


Giles, Giles ! why will you harbor 


suddenly 


these dark thoughts ? 


A tree shook down some crimson 




leaves upon me, 


COREY (rising). 


Like drops of blood, and in the 


I am too tired to talk. I '11 go to 


path before me 


bed. 


Stood Tituba the Indian, the old 




crone. 240 


MARTHA. 




First tell me something about 


MARTHA. 


Bridget Bishop. 


Were you not frightened ? 


How did she look ? You saw her ? 




You were there ? 260 


COREY. 




No, I do not think 


COREY. 


I know the meaning of that word. 


I '11 tell you that to-morrow, not 


Why frightened ? 


to-night. 


I am not one of those who think 

the Lord 
Is waiting till He catches them 


I '11 go to bed. 


MARTHA. 


some day 


First let us pray together. 



666 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



COREY. 

I cannot pray to-night. 

MARTHA. 

Say the Lord's Prayer, 
And that will comfort you. 

COREY. 

I cannot say, 
'As we forgive those that have 

sinned against us,' 
When I do not forgive them. 

martha {kneeling on the hearth). 
God forgive you ! 

COREY. 

I will not make believe ! I say, 

to-night 
There 's something thwarts me 

when I wish to pray, 
And thrusts into my mind, instead 

of prayers, 
Hate and revenge, and things that 

are not prayers. 270 

Something of my old self, — my 

old, bad life, — 
And the old Adam in me, rises 

up, 
And will not let me pray. I am 

afraid 
The Devil hinders me. You know 

I say 
Just what I think, and nothing 

more nor less, 
And, when I pray, my heart is in 

my prayer. 
I cannot say one thing and mean 

another. 
If I can't pray, I will not make 

believe ! 
{Exit Corey. Martha contin- 
ues kneeling. 



ACT III 

Scene I. — Giles Corey's 
kitchen. Morning. Corey and 
Martha sitting at the break- 
fast-table. 



COREY {rising). 
Well, now I 've told you all I saw 

and heard 
Of Bridget Bishop : and I must be 

gone. 

MARTHA. 

Don't go into the village, Giles, to- 

day. 
Last night you came back tired 

and out of humor. 

COREY. 

Say, angry; say, right angry. 1 

was never 
In a more devilish temper in my 

life. 
All things went wrong with me. 

MARTHA. 

You were much vexed ; 
So don't go to the village. 

COREY {going). 

No, I wont. 
I won't go near it. We are going 

to mow 
The Ipswich meadows for the 
aftermath, 10 

The crop of sedge and rowens. 

MARTHA. 

Stay a moment. 
I want to tell you what I dreamed 

last night. 
Do you believe in dreams ? 

COREY. 

Why, yes and no. 

When they come true, then I be* 
lieve ih them ; 

When they come false, I don't be- 
lieve in them. 

But let me hear. What did you 
dream about? 

MARTHA. 

I dreamed that you and I were 

both in prison ; 
That we had fetters on our hands 

and feet : 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



667 



That we were taken before the 

Magistrates, 
And tried for Witchcraft, and con- 
demned to death ! 20 
I wished to pray ; they would not 

let me pray ; 
You tried to comfort me, and they 

forbade it. 
But the most dreadful thing in all 

my dream 
Was that they made you testify 

against me ! 
And then there came a kind of 

mist between us ; 
I could not see you ; and I woke 

in terror. 
I never was more thankful in my 

life 
Than when I found you sleeping 

at my side ! 

COREY (with tenderness). 

It was our talk last night that 
made you dream. 

I 'm sorry for it. I '11 control my- 
self 30 

Another time, and keep my tem- 
per down ! 

I do not like such dreams. — Re- 
member, Martha, 

I to going to mow the Ipswich 
River meadows ; 

If Gardner comes, you '11 tell him 
where to find me. \Exit. 

MARTHA. 

So this delusion grows from bad 

to worse. 
First, a forsaken and forlorn old 

woman, 
Ragged and wretched, and without 

a friend ; 
Then something higher. Now it 's 

Bridget Bishop ; 
God only knows whose turn it will 

be next ! 
The Magistrates are blind, the 

people mad ! 40 

If they would only seize the 

Afflicted Children, 



And put them in the Workhouse, 
where they should be, 

There 'd be an end of all this wick- 
edness. [Exit. 

Scene II. — A street in Salem 
Village. Enter Mather and 
Hathorne. 

MATHER. 

Yet one thing troubles me. 

HATHORNE. 

And what is that ? 

MATHER. 

May not the Devil take the out- 
ward shape 

Of innocent persons ? Are we not 
in danger, 

Perhaps, of punishing some who 
are not guilty? 

HATHORNE. 

As I have said, we do not trust 

alone 
To spectral evidence. 

MATHER. 

And then again, 

If any shall be put to death for 
Witchcraft, 50 

We do but kill the body, not the 
soul. 

The Unclean Spirits that pos- 
sessed them once 

Live still, to enter into other bod- 
ies. 

What have we gained? Surely, 
there 's nothing gained. 

HATHORNE. 

Doth not the Scripture say, 'Thou 

shalt not suffer 
A Witch to live ? ' 

MATHER. 

The Scripture sayeth it, 
But speaketh to the Jews; and 

we are Christians. 
What say the laws of England ? 



668 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHOENE. 

They make Witchcraft 
Felony without the benefit of 

Clergy. 
"Witches are burned in England. 

You have read — 60 

For you read all things, not a book 

escapes you — 
The famous Demonology of King 

James ? 

MATHER. 

A curious volume. I remember 
also 

The plot of the Two Hundred, 
with one Fian, 

The Eegistrar of the Devil, at their 
head, 

To drown his Majesty on his re- 
turn 

From Denmark ; how they sailed 
in sieves or riddles 

Unto North Berwick Kirk in Lo- 
thian, 

And, landing there, danced hand 
in hand, and sang, 

1 Goodwii'e, go ye before ! good- 
wife, go ye ! 70 

If ye '11 not go before, goodwife, 
let me ! ' 

While Geilis Duncan played the 
Witches' Eeel 

Upon a jews-harp. 

HATHOKNE. 

Then you know full well 
The English law, and that in Eng- 
land Witches, 
When lawfully convicted and at- 
tainted, 
Are put to death. 

MATHER. 

When lawfully convicted ; 
That is the point. 

HATHOENE. 

You heard the evidence 
Produced before us yesterday at 

the trial 
Of Bridget Bishop. 



MATHER. 

One of the Afflicted, 

I know, bore witness to the ap- 
parition 80 

Of ghosts unto the spectre of this 
Bishop, 

Saying, ' You murdered us ! ' of the 
truth whereof 

There was in matter of fact too 
much suspicion. 

HATHOENE. 

And when she cast her eyes on the 

Afflicted, 
They were struck down ; and this 

in such a manner 
There could be no collusion in the 

business. 
And when the accused but laid 

her hand upon them, 
As they lay in their swoons, they 

straight revived, 
Although they stirred not when 

the others touched them. 

MATHER. 

What most convinced me of the 

woman's guilt 90 

Was finding hidden in her cellar 

wall 
Those poppets made of rags, with 

headless pins 
Stuck into them point outwards, 

and whereof 
She could not give a reasonable 

account. 

HATHOENE. 

When you shall read the testi- 
mony given 

Before the Court in all the other 
cases, 

I am persuaded you will find the 
proof 

No less conclusive than it was in 
this. 

Come, then, with me, and I will 
tax your patience 

With reading of the documents so 
far 100 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



669 



As may convince you that these 


Has been without reproach until 


sorcerers 


this day. 


Are lawfully convicted and at- 


Is it not true ? 


tainted. 




Like doubting Thomas, you shall 


DEACON. 


lay your hand 


So much we 're bound to own ; 


Upon these wounds, and you will 


And say it frankly, and without 


doubt no more. {Exeunt. 


reserve. 121 




MARTHA. 


Scene III. — A room in Cokey's 


I 've heard the idle tales that are 


house. Maktha and two Dea- 


abroad ; 


cons of the church. 


I 've heard it whispered that I am 




a Witch ; 


MARTHA. 


I cannot help it. I do not believe 


Be seated. I am glad to see you 


In any Witchcraft. It is a delu- 


here. 


sion. 


I know what you are come for. 




You are come 


DEACON. 


To question me, and learn from 


How can you say that it is a delu- 


my own lips 


sion, 


If I have any dealings with the 


When all our learned and good 


Devil; 


men believe it? — 


In short, if I 'm a Witch. 


Our Ministers and worshipful 




Magistrates ? 


deacon {sitting down). 




Such is our purpose. 


MARTHA. 


How could you know beforehand 


Their eyes are blinded, and see 


why we came? no 


not the truth. 




Perhaps one day they will be open 


MARTHA. 


to it. 130 


'T was only a surmise. 






DEACON. 


DEACON. 


You answer boldly. The Afflicted 


We came to ask you, 


Children 


You being with us in church cove- 


Say you appeared to them. 


nant, 




What part you have, if any, in 


MARTHA. 


these matters. 


And did they say 




What clothes I came in ? 


MARTHA. 




And I make answer, No part what- 


DEACON. 


soever. 


No, they could not tell. 


I am a farmer's wife, a working 


They said that you foresaw our 


woman ; 


visit here, 


You see my spinning-wheel, you 


And blinded them, so that they 


see my loom, 


could not see 


You know the duties of a farmer's 


The clothes you wore. 


wife, 




And are not ignorant that my life 


MARTHA. 


among you 


The cunning, crafty girls ! 



670 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



I say to you, in all sincerity, 

I never have appeared to any 

one 
In my own person. If the Devil 

takes 
My shape to hurt these children, 

or afflict them, 140 

I am not guilty of it. And I 

say 
It 's all a mere delusion of the 

senses. 

DEACON. 

I greatly fear that you will find 

too late 
It is not so. 

MARTHA (rising). 
They do accuse me falsely. 
It is delusion, or it is deceit. 
There is a story in the ancient 

Scriptures 
Which much I wonder comes not 

to your minds. 
Let me repeat it to you. 

DEACON. 

We will hear it. 

MARTHA. 

It came to pass that Naboth had a 

vineyard 
Hard by the palace of the King 

called Ahab. 150 

And Ahab, King of Israel, spake 

to Naboth, 
And said to him, Give unto me thy 

vineyard, 
That I may have it for a garden of 

herbs, 
And I will give a better vineyard 

for it, 
Or, if it seemeth good to thee, its 

worth 
In money. And then Naboth said 

to Ahab, 
The Lord forbid it me that I should 

give 
The inheritance of my fathers unto 

thee. 
And Ahab came into his house dis- 
pleased 



And heavy at the words which 

Naboth spake, 160 

And laid him down upon his bed, 

and turned 
His face away ; and he would eat 

no bread. 
And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, 

came 
And said to him, Why is thy spirit 

sad ? 
And he said unto her, Because I 

spake 
To Naboth, to the Jezreelite, and 

said, 
Give me thy vineyard ; and he an- 
swered, saying, 
I will not give my vineyard unto 

thee. 
And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, 

said, 
Dost thou not rule the realm of 

Israel ? 170 

Arise, eat bread, and let thy heart 

be merry ; 
I will give Naboth's vineyard unto 

thee. 
So she wrote letters in King 

Ahab's name, 
And sealed them with his seal, 

and sent the letters 
Unto the elders that were in his 

city 
Dwelling with Naboth, and unto 

the nobles ; 
And in the letters wrote, Proclaim 

a fast ; 
And set this Naboth high among 

the people, 
And set two men, the sons of 

Belial, 
Before him, to bear witness and 

to say, 180 

Thou didst blaspheme against 

God and the King ; 
And carry him out and stone him, 

that he die ! 
And the elders and the nobles in 

the city 
Did even as Jezebel, the wife of 

Ahab, 
Had sent to them and written in 

the letters. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



671 



And then it came to pass, when 


I 'm an old man, but I can swing 


Ahab heard 


a scythe 


Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose 


Better than most of you, though 


to go 


you be younger. 


Down unto Naboth's vineyard, and 

to take 
Possession of it. And the word of 


Hangs his scythe upon a tree. 


GLOYD (aside to the others). 


God 


How strong he is ! It 's super- 


Came to Elijah, saying to him, 


natural. 


Arise, 190 


No man so old as he is has such 


Go down to meet the King of 


strength. 210 


Israel 


The Devil helps him ! 


In Naboth's vineyard, whither he 




hath gone 


COREY (wiping his forehead). 


To take possession. Thou shalt 


Now we '11 rest awhile, 


speak to him, 


And take our nooning. What's 


Saying, Thus saith the Lord! 


the matter with you ? 


"What ! hast thou killed 


You are not angry with me, — are 


And also taken possession ? In 


you, Gloyd ? 


the place 


Come, come, we will not quarrel. 


Wherein the dogs have licked the 


Let 's be friends. 


blood of Naboth 


It 's an old story, that the Eaven 


Shall the dogs lick thy blood, —ay, 


said, 


even thine! 


' Kead the Third of Colossians and 


Both of the Deacons start from 


fifteenth.' 


their seats. 




And Ahab then, the King of Israel, 


GLOYD. 


Said, Hast thou found me, mine 


You Te handier at the scythe, but 


enemy ? 


I can beat you 


Elijah the Prophet answered, I 


At wrestling. 


have found thee ! 200 




So will it be with those who have 


COREY. 


stirred up 


Well, perhaps so. I don't know. 


The Sons of Belial here to bear 


I never wrestled with you. Why, 


false witness 


you 're vexed ! 


And swear away the lives of in- 


Come, come, don't bear a grudge. 


nocent people ; 




Their enemy will find them out at 


GLOYD. 


last, 


You are afraid 


The Prophet's voice will thunder, 




I have found thee ! {.Exeunt. 


COREY. 




What should I be afraid of? All 




bear witness 225 


Scene IV. — Meadows on Ip- 


The challenge comes from him 


swich River. Corey and his 


Now, then, my man. 


men mowing; Corey in ad- 




vance. 


They wrestle, and Gloyd is 




thrown. 


COREY. 




Well done, my men. You see, I 


ONE OP THE MEN. 


lead the field I 


That 's a fair fall. 



672 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



ANOTHER. 


VOICE. 


'T was nothing but a foil ! 


Giles Corey ! 




Enter a boy, running, and out of 


OTHERS. 


breath. 


You 've hurt him ! 




COREY {helping gloyd rise). 


BOY. 

Is Master Corey here ? 


No ; this meadow-land is soft. 




You 're not hurt, — are you, Gloyd ? 


COREY. 


GLOYD {rising). 


Yes, here I am. 


No, not much hurt. 


BOY. 


COREY. 


Master Corey ! 


"Well, then, shake hands ; and 


COREY. 


there 's an end of it. 


Well? 


How do you like that Cornish hug, 




my lad ? 


BOY. 


And now we '11 see what 's in our 


Your wife — your wife — 


basket here. 




gloyd {aside). 
The Devil and all his imps are in 


COREY. 

What 's happened to my wife ? 


that man ! 


BOY. 


The clutch of his ten fingers burns 
like fire ! 230 


She 's sent to prison ! 


COREY {reverentially taking off 


COREY. 


his hat). 


The dream! the dream! God, 


God bless the food He hath pro- 


be merciful ! 240 


vided for us, 




And make us thankful for it, for 


BOY. 


Christ's sake ! 


She sent me here to tell you. 


He lifts up a keg of cider, and 




drinks from it. 


COREY {putting on his jacket). 




Whei-e 's my horse ? 


GLOYD. 


Don't stand there staring, fellows. 


Do you see that? Don't tell me 


Where 's my horse ? 


it 's not Witchcraft. 


{.Exit Corey. 


Two of us could not lift that cask 




as he does ! 


GLOYD. 


Corey puts down the keg, and 


Under the trees there. Eun, old 


opens a basket. A voice is heard 


man, run, run ! 


calling. 


You've got some one to wrestle 


VOICE. 


with you now 


Ho ! Corey, Corey ! 


Who '11 trip your heels up, with 




your Cornish hug. 


COREY. 


If there 's a Devil, he has got you 


What is that ? I surely 


now. 


Heard some one calling me by 


Ah, there he goes ! His horse is 


name I 


snorting fire ! 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



673 



ONE OF THE MEN. 

John Gloyd, don't talk so ! It 's 

a shame to talk so ! 
He's a good master, though you 

quarrel with him. 

GLOYD. 

If hard work and low wages make 
good masters, 250 

Then he is one. But I think other- 
wise. 

Come, let us have our dinner and 
be merry, 

And talk about the old man and 
the Witches. 

I know some stories that will 
make you laugh. 

They sit down on the grass, and 
eat. 

Now there are Goody Cloyse and 
Goody Good, 

Who have not got a decent tooth 
between them, 

And yet these children — the Af- 
flicted Children — 

Say that they bite them, and show 
marks of teeth 

Upon their arms ! 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

That makes the wonder greater. 

That 's Witchcraft. Why, if they 

bad teeth like yours, 260 

'T would be no wonder if the girls 

were bitten ! 



And then those ghosts that come 

out of their graves 
And cry, ' You murdered us ! you 

murdered us ! ' 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

And all those Apparitions that 

stick pins 
Into the flesh of the Afflicted 

Children ! 

GLOYD. 

Oh those Afflicted Children ! They 
know well 



Where the pins come from. I can 

tell you that. 
And there 's old Corey, he has got 

a horse-shoe 
Nailed on his doorstep to keep off 

the Witches, 
And all the same his wife has gone 

to prison. 270 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

Oh, she's no Witch. I'll swear 
that Goodwife Corey 

Never did harm to any living 
creature. 

She 's a good woman, if there ever 
was one. 

GLOYD. 

Well, we shall see. As for ttat 

Bridget Bishop, 
She has been tried before ; some 

years ago 
A negro testified he saw her shape 
Sitting upon the rafters in a 

barn, 
And holding in its hand an egg; 

and while 
He went to fetch his pitchfork, she 

had vanished. 
And now be quiet, will you ? I am 

tired, 280 

And want to sleep here on the 

grass a little. 

They stretch themselves on the 
grass. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

There may be Witches riding 

through the air 
Over our heads on broomsticks at 

this moment, 
Bound for some Satan's Sabbath 

in the woods 
To be baptized. 

GLOYD. 

I wish they 'd take you with them, 
And hold you under water, head 
and ears, 



674 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Till you were drowned; and that 
would stop your talking, 

If nothing else will. Let me sleep, 
I say. 



ACT IV 

Scene I. — The Green in front of 
the village Meeting-house. An 
excited crowd gathering. Enter 
John Gloyd. 

A FARMER. 

"Who will he tried to-day? 

A SECOND. 

I do not know. 
Here is John Gloyd. Ask him ; he 
knows. 

FARMER. 

John Gloyd, 
Whose turn is it to-day ? 

GLOYD. 

It 's Goodwife Corey's. 

FARMER. 

Giles Corey's wife ? 

GLOYD. 

The same. She is not mine. 
It will go hard with her with all 

her praying. 
The hypocrite ! She 's always on 

her knees ; 
But she prays to the Devil when 

she prays. 
Let us go in. 

A trumpet blows. 

FARMER. 

Here come the Magistrates. 

SECOND FARMER. 

Who 's the tall man in front ? 

GLOYD. 

Oh, that is Hathorne, 
A Justice of the Court, and Quar- 
termaster IO 



In the Three County Troop. He '11 
sift the matter. 

That 's Corwin with him ; and the 
man in clack 

Is Cotton Mather, Minister of Bos- 
ton. 

Enter Hathorne and other 
Magistrates on horseback, fol- 
lowed by the Sheriff, constables, 
and attendants on foot. The 
Magistrates dismount, and en- 
ter the Meeting-house, with the 
rest. 

FARMER. 

The Meeting-house is full. I never 

saw 
So great a crowd before. 

GLOYD. 

No matter. Come. 
We shall find room enough by 

elbowing 
Our way among them. Put your 

shoulder to it. 

FARMER. 

There were not half so many at 

the trial 
Of Goodwife Bishop. 

gloyd. 

Keep close after me. 

I '11 find a place for you. They '11 

want me there. 20 

I am a friend of Corey's, as you 

know, 
And he can't do without me just at 
present. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Interior of the Meet- 
ing-house. Mather and the 
Magistrates seated in front of 
the pulpit. Before them a raised 
platform. Martha in chains. 
Corey near her. Mary Wal- 
cot in a chair. A crotvd of 
spectators, among them Gloyd. 
Confusion and murmurs during 
the scene. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



675 



HATHOBNB. 

Call Martha Corey. 

MARTHA. 

I am here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come forward. 
She ascends the platform. 
The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord 

and Lady 
The King and Queen, here present, 

do accuse you 
Of having on the tenth of June last 

past, 
And divers other times before and 

after, 
Wickedly used and practised cer- 
tain arts 
Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and 

Incantations, 
Against one Mary Walcot, single 

woman, 30 

Of Salem Village ; by which wicked 

arts 
The aforesaid Mary Walcot was 

tormented, 
Tortured, afflicted, pined, con- 
sumed, and wasted, 
Against the peace of our Sovereign 

Lord and Lady 
The King and Queen, as well as of 

the Statute 
Made and provided in that case. 

What say you? 

MARTHA. 

Before I answer, give me leave to 
pray. 

HATHORNE. 

We have not sent for you, nor are 

we here, 
To hear you pray, but to examine 

you 
In whatsoever is alleged against 

you. 40 

Why do you hurt this person? 



MARTHA. 



I do not. 



I am not guilty of the charge 
against me. 

MARY. 

Avoid, she-devil! You may tor- 
ment me now ! 
Avoid, avoid, Witch ! 

MARTHA. 

I am innocent. 

I never had to do with any Witch- 
craft 

Since I was born. I am a gospel 
woman. 

MARY. 

You are a gospel Witch ! 

martha (clasping her hands). 
Ah me ! ah me ! 
Oh, give me leave to pray ! 

mary (stretching out her hands). 
She hurts me now. 
See, she has pinched my hands ! 

HATHORNE. 

Who made these marks 
Upon her hands? 

MARTHA. 

I do not know. I stand 

Apart from her. I did not touch 

her hands. 51 

HATHORNE. 

Who hurt her then? 

MARTHA. 

I know not. 

HATHORNE. 

Do you think 
She is bewitched ? 

MARTHA. 

Indeed I do not think so. 
I am no Witch, and have no faith 
in Witches. 



<5;6 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



HATHORNE. 


MARTHA. 


Then answer me : When certain 


Yes, he told me 


persons came 


The children said I troubled them. 


To see you yesterday, how did you 




know 


HATHORNE. 


Beforehand why they came ? 


Then tell me, 


MARTHA. 


Why do you trouble them? 


I had had speech ; 


MARTHA. 


The children said I hurt them, and 
I thought 


I have denied it. 


These people came to question me 


MARY. 


about it. 






She threatened me ; stabbed at me 


HATHOKNE. 


with her spindle ; 


How did you know the children 


And, when my brother thrust her 


had been told 60 


with his sword, 


To note the clothes you wore ? 


He tore her gown, and cut a piece 




away. 


MARTHA. 


Here are they both, the spindle 


My husband told me 


and the cloth. 


What others said about it. 


Shows them. 


HATHORNE. 


HATHORNE. 


Goodman Corey, 


And there are persons here who 


Say, did you tell her ? 


know the truth 




Of what has now been said. What 


COREY. 


answer make you? 


I must speak the truth ; 




I did not tell her. It was some 


MARTHA. 


one else. 


I make no answer. Give me leave 




to pray. 79 


HATHORNE. 




Did you not say your husband told 


HATHORNE. 


you so ? 


Whom would you pray to ? 


How dare you tell a lie in this as- 




sembly ? 


MARTHA. 


Who told you of the clothes ? Con- 
fess the truth. 


To my God and Father. 


Martha bites her lips, and is si- 


HATHORNE. 


lent 


Who is your God and Father ? 


You bite your lips, but do not an- 
swer me ! 


MARTHA. 




The Almighty! 


MARY. 




* Ah, she is biting me ! Avoid, 


HATHORNE. 


avoid ! 69 


Doth he you pray to say that he is 




God? 


HATHORNE. 


It is the Prince of Darkness, and 


You said your husband told you. 


not God. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



677 



MARY. 


Perched on her finger; and it 


There is a dark shape whispering 


pecks at me. 


in her ear. 


Ah ! it will tear mine eyes out ! 


HATHOENE. 


MARTHA. 


What does it say to you? 


I see nothing. 


MARTHA. 


HATHOENE. 


I see no shape. 


'Tis the Familiar Spirit that at- 




tends her. to 1 


HATHOENE. 




Did you not hear it whisper? 


MARY. 




Now it has flown away. It sits up 


MARTHA. 


there 


I heard nothing. 


Upon the rafters. It is gone; is 




vanished. 


MART. 




What torture ! Ah, what agony I 


MARTHA. 


suffer ! 


Giles, wipe these tears of anger 


Falls into a swoon. 


from mine eyes. 
Wipe the sweat from my forehead. 


HATHOENE. 


I am^faint. 


You see this woman cannot stand 


She leans against the railing. 


before you. 




If you would look for mercy, you 


MARY. 


must look 


Oh, she is crushing me with all her 


In God's way, by confession of 


weight! 


your guilt. 90 




Why does your spectre haunt and 


HATHOENE. 


hurt this person ? 


Did you not carry once the Devil's 




Book 


MARTHA. 


To this young woman ? 


I do not know.. He who appeared 
of old 


MARTHA. 


In Samuel's shape, a saint and 


Never. 


glorified, 
May come in whatsoever shape he 
chooses. 


HATHOENE. 

Have you signed it, 


I cannot help it. I am sick at 


Or touched it ? 


heart ! 


MARTHA. 


COREY. 


No ; I never saw it 


Martha, Martha! let me hold 


HATHORNE. 


your hand. 


Did you not scourge her with an 


HATHOENE. 


iron rod? no 


No ; stand aside, old man. 


MARTHA. 




No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit 


MARY {.starting up). 


Has taken my shape to do these 


Look there ! Look there ! 


evil deeds, 


I see a little bird, a yellow bird, 


I cannot help it. I am innocent. 



678 



CHRISTUS : A MYSTERY 



HATHOENB. 


MARY. 


Did you not say the Magistrates 


The next Sabbath 


were blind ? 


Is the Communion Day, but Mar- 


That you would open their eyes ? 


tha Corey 130 




Will not be there ! 


martha {with a scornful laugh). 




Yes, I said that '- 


MARTHA. 


If you call me a sorceress, you are 


Ah, you are all against me. 


blind ! 


What can I do or say ? 


If you accuse the innocent, you 




are blind ! 


HATHOENE. 


Can the innocent be guilty ? 


You can confess. 


HATHOBNE. 


MARTHA. 


Did you not 


No, I cannot, for I am innocent. 


On one occasion hide your hus- 




band's saddle 


HATHOENE. 


To hinder him from coming to the 


We have the proof of many wit- 


Sessions ? 120 


nesses 




That you are guilty. 


MARTHA. 




I thought it was a folly in a farm- 


MARTHA. 


er 


Give me leave to speak. 


To waste his time pursuing such 


Will you condemn me on such 


illusions. 


evidence, — 




You who have known me for so 


HATHORKE. 


many years? 


What was the bird that this young 


Will you condemn me in this house 


woman saw 


of God, 


Just now upon your hand? 


Where I so long have worshipped 




with you all ? 


MARTHA. 


Where I have eaten the bread 


I know no bird. 


and drunk the wine 140 




So many times at our Lord's Table 


HATHOENB. 


with you? 


Have you not dealt with a Familiar 


Bear witness, you that hear me ; 


Spirit? 


you all know 




That I have led a blameless life 


MARTHA. 


among you, 


No, never, never ! 


That never any whisper of suspi- 


HATHOENB. 


cion 
Was breathed against me till tliis 


What then was the Book 


accusation. 


You showed to this young woman, 


And shall this count for nothing ? 


and besought her 


Will you take 


To write in it ? 


My life away from me, because 




this girl, 


MARTHA. 


Who is distraught, and not in her 


Where should I have a book ? 


right mind, 


I showed her none, nor have 


Accuses me of things I blush to 


none. 


name? 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



679 



HATHORNE. 


A net I cannot break, cannot es- 


What ! is it not enough ? Would 


cape from ! (Aside.) 


you hear more ? 150 




Giles Corey ! 


HATHOENE. 




Who did these things ? 


COREY. 




I am here. 


COREY. 




I do not know who did them. 


HATHOENE. 




Come forward, then. 


HATHORNE. 


Corey ascends the platform. 


Then I will tell you. It is some 
one near you ; 


Is it not true, that on a certain 


You see her now; this woman, 


night 


your own wife. 


You were impeded strangely in 




your prayers ? 


COREY. 


That something hindered you? 


I call the heavens to witness, it is 


and that you left 


false ! 


This woman here, your wife, kneel- 


She never harmed me, never hin- 


ing alone 


dered me 170 


Upon the hearth? 


In anything but what I should not 

do. 
And I bear witness in the sight of 


COREY. 


Yes ; I cannot deny it. 


heaven, 




And in God's house here, that I 


HATHOENE. 


never knew her 


Did you not say the Devil hin- 


As otherwise than patient, brave, 


dered you ? 


and true, 




Faithful, forgiving, full of charity, 


COREY. 


A virtuous and industrious aud 


I think I said some words to that 


good wife ! 


effect. 






HATHORNE. 


HATHOENE. 


Tut, tut, man; do not rant so in 


Is it not true, that fourteen head 


your speech ; 


of cattle, 


You are a witness, not an advo- 


To you belonging, broke from their 


cate! 


enclosure 160 


Here, Sheriff, take this woman 


And leaped into the river, and 


back to prison. 


were drowned ? 






MARTHA. 


COREY. 


Giles, this day you've sworn 


It is most true. 


away my life ! 180 


HATHOENE. 


MARY. 


And did you not then say 


Go, go and join the Witches at the 


That they were overlooked ? 


door. 




Do you not hear the drum? Do 


COREY. 


you not see them ? 


So much I said. 


Go quick. They 're waiting for 


I see ; they 're drawing round me 


you. You are late. 


closer, closer, 


[Exit MARTHA; CORBY following 



68o 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



COREY. 

The dream ! the dream ! the 
dream ! 

HATHORNE. 

What does he say ? 
Giles Corey, go not hence. You 

are yourself 
Accused of "Witchcraft and of 

Sorcery 
By many witnesses. Say, are you 

guilty? 

COREY. 

I know my death is foreordained 

by you, — 
Mine and my wife's. Therefore I 

will not answer. 
During the rest of the scene he re- 
mains silent. 

HATHORNE. 

Do you refuse to plead? — 'T were 

better for you 190 

To make confession, or to plead 

Not Guilty.— 
Do you not hear me ? — Answer, 

are you guilty ? 
Do you not know a heavier doom 

awaits you, 
If you refuse to plead, than if found 

guilty? 
"Where is John Gloyd ? 

GLOYD (coming forward). 
Here am I. 

HATHORNE. 

Tell the Court ; 

Have you not seen the supernatu- 
ral power 

Of this old man? Have you not 
seen him do 

Strange feats of strength ? 

GLOYD. 

I 've seen him lead the field, 
On a hot day, in mowing, and 

against 
Us younger men ; and I have wres- 
tled with him. 200 



He threw me like a feather. I 

have seen him 
Lift up a barrel with his single 

hands, 
"Which two strong men could 

hardly lift together, 
And, holding it above his head, 

drink from it. 

HATHORNE. 

That is enough; we need not 

question further. 
What answer do you make to this, 

Giles Corey ? 

MARY. 

See there ! See there ! 

HATHORNE. 

What is it? I see nothing. 

MARY. 

Look! Look! It is the ghost of 

Eobert Goodell, 
Whom fifteen years ago this man 

did murder 
By stamping on his body ! In his 

shroud 210 

He comes here to bear witness to 

the crime ! 

The crowd shrinks back from 
Corey in horror. 

HATHORNE. 

Ghosts of the dead and voices of 

the living 
Bear witness to your guilt, and 

you must die ! 
It • might have been an easier 

death. Your doom 
Will be on your own head, and not 

on ours. 
Twice more will you be questioned 

of these things : 
Twice more have room to plead or 

to confess. 
If you are contumacious to the 

Court, 
And if, when questioned, you re- 
fuse to answer, 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



68 1 



Then by the Statute you will be 

condemned 220 

To the peine forte et dure .' To 

have your body 
Pressed by great weights until you 

shall be dead ! 
And may the Lord have mercy on 

your soul ! 



ACT V 

Scene I. — Corey's farm as in 
Act II, Scene I. Enter Rich- 
ard Gardner, looking round 
him. 

GARDNER. 

Here stands the house as I remem- 
ber it, 

The four tall poplar-trees before 
the door ; 

The house, the barn, the orchard, 
and the well, 

With its moss-covered bucket and 
its trough ; 

The garden, with its hedge of cur- 
rant-bushes ; 

The woods, the harvest - fields ; 
and, far beyond, 

The pleasant landscape stretching 
to the sea. 

But everything is silent and de- 
serted ! 

No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of 
herds, 

No sound of flails, that should be 
beating now ; 10 

Nor man nor beast astir. What can 
this mean ? 
Knocks at the door. 

What ho ! Giles Corey ! Hillo-ho ! 
Giles Corey ! — 

No answer but the echo from the 
barn, 

And the ill-omened cawing of the 
crow, 

That yonder wings his flight across 
the fields, 

As if he scented carrion in the 
air. 



Enter Tituba with a basket. 
What woman 's this, that, like an 

apparition, 
Haunts this deserted homestead 

in broad day ? 
Woman, who are you ? 

TITUBA. 

I 'm Tituba. 

I am John Indian's wife. I am a 

Witch. 20 

GARDNER. 

What are you doing here ? 

TITUBA. 

I am gathering herbs, — 
Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and pen- 
nyroyal. 

Gardner {looking at the herbs). 

This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly 
nightshade ! 

This is not saxifrage, but helle- 
bore! 

This is not pennyroyal, it is hen- 
bane ! 

Do you come here to poison these 
good people ? 

TITUBA. 

I get these for the Doctor in the 

Village. 
Beware of Tituba. I pinch the 

children ; 
Make little poppets and stick pins 

in them, 
And then the children cry out they 

are pricked. 30 

The Black Dog came to me, and 

said, ' Serve me ! ' 
I was afraid. He made me hurt 

the children. 

GARDNER. 

Poor soul ! She 's crazed, with all 
these Devil's doings. 

TITUBA. 

Will you, sir, sign the Book ? 



682 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



GARDNER. 


Scene II.— The prison. Giles 


No, I '11 not sign it. 


Corey at a table on which are 


Where is Giles Corey? Do you 


some papers. 


know Giles Corey? 


COREY. 


TITUBA. 


Now I have done with earth and 


He 's safe enough. He 's down 


all its cares ; 


there in the prison. 


I give my worldly goods to my 




dear children ; 


GARDNER. 


My body I bequeath to my tor- 


Corey in prison? What is he ac- 


mentors, 


cused of? 


And my immortal soul to Him who 




made it. 


TITUBA. 


God! who in thy wisdom dost 


Giles Corey and Martha Corey are 


afflict me 


in prison 


With an affliction greater than 


Down there in Salem Village. 


most men 


Both are Witches. 


Have ever yet endured or shall en- 


She came to me and whispered, 


dure, 


' Kill the children ! ' 40 


Suffer me not in this last bitter 


Both signed the Book ! 


hour 60 




For any pains of death to fall from 


GARDNER. 


thee! 


Begone, you imp of darkness ! 




You Devil's dam ! 


martha is heard singing. 




Arise, righteous Lord ! 


TITUBA. 


And disappoint my foes ; 


Beware of Tituba ! 


They are but thine avenging sword, 


[Exit. 


Whose wounds are swift to close. 




COREY. 


GARDNER. 






Hark, hark ! it is her voice ! She 


How often out at sea on stormy 


is not dead ! 


nights, 
When the waves thundered round 


She lives! I am not utterly for- 
saken ! 


me, and the wind 


Bellowed, and beat the canvas, 


martha, singing. 


and my ship 
Clove through the solid darkness, 


By thine abounding grace, 
And mercies multiplied, 


like a wedge, 


I shall awake, and see thy face ; 70 


I 've thought of him, upon his plea- 


I shall be satisfied. 


sant farm, 




Living in quiet with his thrifty 


Corey hides his face in his hands. 


housewife, 


Enter the Jailer, followed by 


And envied him, and wished his 


Eichard Gardner. 


fate were mine ! 




And now I find him shipwrecked 


JAILER. 


utterly, 50 


Here 's a seafaring man, one Rich- 


Drifting upon this sea of sorce- 


ard Gardner, 


ries, 


A friend of yours, who asks to 


And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid 


speak with you. 


of man ! [Exit. 


Corey rises. They embrace. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



683 



COKEY. 


I will not say their hearts, — that 


I 'm glad to see you, ay, right glad 


were too cruel. 


to see you. 


What would you have me do ? 


GARDNER. 


GARDNER. 


And I am most sorely grieved to 


Confess and live. 


see you thus. 






COREY. 


COREY. 


That 's what they said who came 


Of all the friends I had in happier 


here yesterday 


days, 


To lay a heavy weight upon my 


You are the first, ay, and the only 


conscience 


one, 


By telling me that I was driven 


That comes to seek me out in my 


forth 


disgrace ! 


As an unworthy member of their 


And you but come in time to say 


church. 


farewell. 




They 've dug my grave already in 


GARDNER. 


the field. 80 


It is an awful death. 


I thank you. There is something 




in your presence, 


COREY. 


I know not what it is, that gives 


'T is but to drown, 


me strength. 


And have the weight of all the 


Perhaps it is the bearing of a man 


seas upon you. 101 


Familiar with all dangers of the 




deep, 


GARDNER. 


Familiar with the cries of drown- 


Say something; say enough to 


ing men, 


fend off death 


With fire, and wreck, and founder- 


Till this tornado of fanaticism 


ing ships at sea ! 


Blows itself out. Let me come in 




between you 


GARDNER. 


And your severer self, with my 


Ah, I have never known a wreck 


plain sense ; 


like yours ! 


Do not be obstinate. 


Would I could save you! 






COREY. 


COREY. 


I will not plead. 


Do not speak of that. 


If I deny, I am condemned al- 


It is too late. I am resolved to' 


ready, 


die. 


In courts where ghosts appear as 


GARDNER. 


witnesses. 


Why would you die who have so 


And swear men's lives away. If 


much to live for ? — 90 


I confess, 


Your daughters, and — 


Then I confess a lie, to buy a 

life no 

Which is not life, but only death 


COREY. 


You cannot say the word. 


in life. 


My daughters have gone from me. 


I will not bear false witness 


They are married ; 


against any. 


They have their homes, their 


Not even against myself, whom I 


thoughts, apart from me ; 


count least. 



684 



CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY 



Gardner (aside). 


But the immortal soul ye cannot 


Ah, what a noble character is this ! 


crush ! [Exeunt. 


CORBY. 




I pray you, do not urge me to do 


Scene III. — A street in the Vil- 


that 


lage. Enter Gloyd and others. 


You would not do yourself. I 




have already 


GLOYD. 


The hitter taste of death upon my 

lips; 
I feel the pressure of the heavy 


Quick, or we shall be late ! 


A MAN. 


weight 


That 's not the way. 


That will crush out my life within 


Come here ; come up this lane. 


this hour ; 




But if a word could save me, and 


GLOYD. 


that word 120 


I wonder now 


Were not the Truth ; nay, if it did 


If the old man will die, and will 


hut swerve 


not speak ? 


A hair's-hreadth from the Truth, I 


He 's obstinate enough and tough 


would not say it ! 


enough 




For anything on earth. 


Gardner (aside). 


A bell tolls. 


How mean I seem heside a man 


Hark! What is that? 


like this ! 






A MAN. 


COREY. 


The passing bell. He 's dead. 


As for my wife, my Martha and 




my Martyr, — 


GLOYD. 


Whose virtues, like the stars, un- 


We are too late. 


seen by day, 


{Exeunt in haste. 


Though numberless, do but await 

the dark 
To manifest themselves unto all 




Scene IV. — A field near the 


eyes, — 


graveyard. Giles Corey ly- 


She who first won me from my 


ing dead, with a great stone on 


evil ways, 


his breast. The sheriff at his 


And taught me how to live by her 


head, Richard Gardner at 


example, 
By her example teaches me to 


his feet. A crowd behind. The 


bell tolling. Enter Hathorne 


die, 130 


and Mather. 


And leads me onward to the better 




life! 


HATHORNE. 




This is the Potter's Field. Behold 


SHERIFF (Without). 


the fate 141 


Giles Corey! Come! The hour 


Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, 


has struck ! 


and, when questioned, 




Refuse to plead their guilt or inno- 


COREY. 


cence, 


I come ! 


And stubbornly drag death upon 


Here is my body ; ye may torture 
it, 


themselves. 



THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES 



685 



MATHER. 

O sight most horrible ! In a land 
like this, 

Spangled with Churches Evangeli- 
cal, 

Inwrapped in our salvations, must 
we seek 

In mouldering statute-books of 
English Courts 

Some old forgotten Law, to do such 
deeds ? 

Those who lie buried in the Pot- 
ter's Field 150 

Will rise again, as surely as our- 
selves 

That sleep in honored graves with 
epitaphs : 

And this poor man, whom we have 
made a victim, 

Hereafter will be counted as a 
martyr ! 



FINALE 

SAINT JOHN 

Saint John wandering over the 
face of the Earth. 

SAINT JOHN. 

The Ages come and go, 
The Centuries pass as Years; 
My hair is white as the snow, 
My feet are weary and slow, 
The earth is wet with my tears ! 
The kingdoms crumble, and fall 
Apart, like a ruined wall, 
Or a bank that is undermined 
By a river's ceaseless flow, 
And leave no trace behind ! 10 
The world itself is old ; 
The portals of Time unfold 
On hinges of iron, that grate 
And groan with the rust and the 

weight, 
Like the hinges of a gate 
That hath fallen to decay ; 
But the evil doth not cease ; 
There is war instead of peace, 
Instead of Love there is hate : 



And still I must wander and wait, 
Still I must watch and pray, 21 
Not forgetting in whose sight, 
A thousand years in their flight 
Are as a single day. 

The life of man is a gleam 
Of light, that comes and goes 
Like the course of the Holy 

Stream, 
The cityless river, that flows 
From fountains no one knows, 
Through the Lake of Galilee, 30 
Through forests and level lands, 
Over rocks, and shallows, and 

sands 
Of a wilderness wild and vast, 
Till it flndeth its rest at last 
In the desolate Dead Sea ! 
But alas ! alas for me 
Not yet this rest shall be ! 

What, then ! doth Charity fail ? 
Is Faith of no avail ? 
Is Hope blown out like a light 40 
By a gust of wind in the night ? 
The clashing of creeds, and the 

strife 
Of the many beliefs, that in vain 
Perplex man's heart and brain, 
Are naught but the rustle of leaves, 
When the breath of God upheaves 
The boughs of the Tree of Life, 
And they subside again ! 
And I remember still 
The words, and from whom they 

came, 50 

Not he that repeateth the name, 
But he that doeth the will ! 

And Him evermore I behold 

Walking in Galilee, 

Through the cornfield's waving 

gold, 
In hamlet, in wood, and in wold, 
By the shores of the Beautiful 

Sea. 
He toucheth the sightless eyes ; 
Before him the demons flee ; 
To the dead He sayeth : Arise ! (o 
To the living : Follow me ! 



686 



JUDAS MACCABJEUS 



And that voice still soundeth on 
From the centuries that are gone, 
To the centuries that shall be ! 

From all vain pomps and shows, 
From the pride that overflows, 
And the false conceits of men ; 
From all the narrow rules 
And subtleties of Schools, 
And the craft of tongue and pen ; 
Bewildered in its search, 71 



Bewildered with the cry : 

Lo, here ! lo, there, the Church ! 

Poor, sad Humanity 

Through all the dust and heat 

Turns back with bleeding feet, 

By the weary road it came, 

Unto the simple thought 

By the great Master taught, 

And that remaineth still : 80 

Not he that repeateth the name, 

But he that doeth the will ! 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ACT I 

THE CITADEL OF ANTIOCHUS 
AT JERUSALEM 

Scene I, — Antiochus ; Jason. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Antioch, my Antioch, my city ! 
Queen of the East ! my solace, my 

delight ! 
The dowry of my sister Cleopatra 
"When she was wed to Ptolemy, 

and now 
Won back and made more wonder- 
ful by me ! 

1 love thee, and I long to be once 

more 

Among the players and the dan- 
cing women 

Within thy gates, and bathe in the 
Orontes, 

Thy river and mine. O Jason, my 
High-Priest, 

For I have made thee so, and thou 
art mine, 10 

Hast thou seen Antioch the Beau- 
tiful? 

JASON. 

Never, my Lord. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Then hast thou never seen 



The wonder of the world. This 

city of David 
Compared with Antioch is but a 

village, 
And its inhabitants compared 

with Greeks 
Are mannerless boors. 

JASON. 

They are barbarians, 
And mannerless. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They must be civilized. 
They must be made to have more 

gods than one ; 
And goddesses besides. 

JASON. 

They shall have more. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They must have hippodromes, and 
games, and baths, 20 

Stage - plays and festivals, and 
most of all 

The Dionysia. 

JASON. 

They shall have them all. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

By Heracles ! but I should like to 
see 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



687 



These Hebrews crowned with ivy, 


JASON. 


and arrayed 


Playing at discus with the other 


In skins of fawns, with drums and 


priests 


flutes and thyrsi, 


In the Gymnasium. 


Revel and riot through the solemn 




streets 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Of their old town. Ha, ha! It 


Thou hast done well. 


makes me merry 


There's nothing better for you 


Only to think of it ! — Thou dost 


lazy priests 


not laugh. 


Than discus-playing with the com- 




mon people. 


JASON. 


Now tell me, Jason, what these 


Yea, I laugh inwardly. 


Hebrews call me 




When they converse together at 


ANTIOCHUS. 


their games. 


The new Greek leaven 




Works slowly in this Israelitish 


JASON. 


dough ! 30 


Antiochus Epiphanes, my Lord ; 


Have I not sacked the Temple, 


Antiochus the Illustrious. 


and on the altar 




Set up the statue of Olympian 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Zeus 


Oh, not that ; 


To Hellenize it ? 


That is the public cry; I mean 




the name 51 


JASON. 


They give me when they talk 


Thou hast done all this. 


among themselves, 




And think that no one listens ; 


ANTIOCHUS. 


what is that ? 


As thou wast Joshua once and 




now art Jason, 


JASON. 


And from a Hebrew hast become 


Antiochus Epimanes, my Lord ! 


a Greek, 




So shall this Hebrew nation be 


ANTIOCHUS. 


translated, 


Antiochus the Mad ! Ay, that is it. 


Their very natures and their 


And who hath said it? Who hath 


names be changed, 


set in motion 


And all be Hellenized. 


That sorry jest ? 


JASON. 


JASON. 


It shall be done. 


The Seven Sons insane 




Of a weird woman, like themselves 


ANTIOCHUS. 


insane. 


Their manners and their laws and 




way of living 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Shall all be Greek. They shall 


I like their courage, but it shall 


unlearn their language. 40 


not save them. 


And learn the lovely speech of 


They shall be made to eat the 


Antioch. 


flesh of swine 60 


Where hast thou been to-day ? 


Or they shall die. Where are 


Thou comest late. 


they v 



588 



JUDAS MACCAByEUS 



JASON. 


As doth become Ambassadors. 


In the dungeons 


What seek ye ? 


Beneath this tower. 






AN AMBASSADOR. 


ANTIOCHUS. 


An audience from the King. 


There let them stay and starve, 




Till I am ready to make Greeks of 


ANTIOCHUS. 


them, 


Speak, and be brief. 


After my fashion. 


Waste not the time in useless 




rhetoric. 81 


JASON. 


Words are not things. 


They shall stay and starve. — 




My Lord, the Ambassadors of Sa- 


ambassador {reading). 


maria 


' To King Antiochus, 


Await thy pleasure. 


The God, Epiphanes ; a Memorial 




From the Sidonians, who live at 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Sichem.' 


Why not my displeasure ? 




Ambassadors are tedious. They 


ANTIOCHUS. 


are men 


Sidonians ? 


Who work for their own ends, and 




not for mine ; 


AMBASSADOR. 


There is no furtherance in them. 


Ay, my Lord. 


Let them go 




To Apollonius, my governor 70 


ANTIOCHUS. 


There in Samaria, and not trouble 


Go on, go on ! 


me. 


And do not tire thyself and me 


What do they want? 


with bowing ! 


JASON. 


ambassador (reading). 


Only the royal sanction 


' We are a colony of Medes and 


To give a name unto a nameless 

temple 
Upon Mount Gerizim. 


Persians.' 


ANTIOCHUS. 




No, ye are Jews from one of the 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Ten Tribes ; 


Then bid them enter. 


Whether Sidonians or Samaritans 


This pleases me, and furthers my 


Or Jews of Jewry, matters not to 


designs. 


me ; 90 


The occasion is auspicious. Bid 


Ye are all Israelites, ye are all 


them enter. 


Jews. 




When the Jews prosper, ye claim 


Scene II. — Antiochus ; Ja- 


kindred with them ; 


son; the Samaritan Ambas- 


When the Jews suffer, ye are 


sadors. 


Medes and Persians ; 




I know that in the days of Alex- 


ANTIOCHUS. 


ander 


Approach. Come forward; stand 


Ye claimed exemption from the 


not at the door 


annual tribute 


Wagging your long beards, but 


In the Sabbatic Year, because, ye 


demean yourselves 


said, 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



6S9 



Your fields had not been planted 


Meet me half-way. Jason, didst 


in that year. 


thou take note 




How these Samaritans of Sichem 


ambassador (reading). 


said 120 


' Our fathers, upon certain frequent 


They were not Jews? that they 


plagues, 


were Medes and Persians, 


And following an ancient supersti- 


They were Sidonians, anything 


tion, 


but Jews? 


Were long accustomed to observe 


'T is of good augury. The rest 


that day 100 


will follow 


Which by the Israelites is called 


Till the whole land is Hellenized. 


the Sabbath, 




And in a temple on Mount Geri- 


JASON. 


zim 


My Lord, 


Without a name, they offered sac- 


These are Samaritans. The tribe 


rifice. 


of Judah 


Now we, wbo are Sidonians, be- 


Is of a different temper, and the 


seech thee, 


task 


Who art our benefactor and our 


Will be more difficult. 


savior, 




Not to confound us with these 


ANTIOCHUS. 


wicked Jews, 


Dost thou gainsay me ? 


But to give royal order and injunc- 




tion 


JASON. 


To Apollonius in Samaria, 


I know the stubborn nature of the 


Thy governor, and likewise to 


Jew. 


Nicanor, 


Yesterday, Eleazer, an old man, 


Thy procurator, no more to molest 


Being fourscore years and ten, 


US; no 


chose rather death 130 


And let our nameless temple now 


By torture than to eat the flesh of 


be named 


swine. 


The Temple of Jupiter Hellenius.' 






ANTIOCHUS. 


ANTIOCHUS. 


The life is in the blood, and the 


This shall be done. Full well it 


whole nation 


pleaseth me 


Shall bleed to death, or it shall 


Ye are not Jews, or are no longer 


change its faith ! 


Jews, 




But Greeks ; if not by birth, yet 


JASON. 


Greeks by custom. 


Hundreds have fled already to the 


Your nameless temple shall re- 


mountains 


ceive the name 


Of Ephraim, where Judas Macca- 


Of Jupiter Hellenius. Ye may go .' 


bseus 


• 


Hath raised the standard of revolt 


against thee. 


Scene III. — Antiochus ; Ja- 




son. 


ANTIOCHUS. 




I will burn down their city, and 


ANTIOCHUS. 


will make it 


My task is easier than I dreamed. 


Waste as a wilderness. Its thor- 


These people 


oughfares 



6go 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



Shall be but furrows in a field of 



It shall be sown with salt as So- 
dom is ! 140 

This hundred and fifty-third Olym- 
piad 

Shall have a broad and blood-red 
seal upon it, 

Stamped with the awful letters of 
my name, 

Antiochus the God, Epiphanes ! — 

Where are those Seven Sons ? 

JASON. 

My Lord, they wait 
Thy royal pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They shall wait no longer ! 



ACT II 



THE DUNGEONS IN THE CITA- 
DEL 



Scene I. — The Mother of the 
Seven Sons alone, listening. 

THE MOTHER. 

Be strong, my heart ! Break not 
till they are dead. 

All, all my Seven Sons ; then burst 
asunder, 

And let this tortured and tor- 
mented soul 

Leap and rush out like water 
through the shards 

Of earthen vessels broken at a 
well. 

my dear children, mine in life 

and death, 

1 know not how ye came into my 

womb ; 
I neither gave you breath, nor 

gave you life, 
And neither was it I that formed 

the members 
Of every one of you. But the 

Creator, 10 

Who made the world, and made 

the heavens above us, 



"Who formed the generation of 

mankind, 
And found out the beginning of all 

things, 
He gave you breath and life, and 

will again 
Of his own mercy, as ye now regard 
Not your own selves, but his eter- 
nal law. 
I do not murmur, nay, I thank 

thee, God, 
That I and mine have not been 

deemed unworthy 
To suffer for thy sake, and for thy 

law, 
And for the many sins of Israel. 20 
Hark ! I can hear within the sound 

of scourges ! 
I feel them more than ye do, O my 

sons! 
But cannot come to you. I, who 

was wont 
To wake at night at the least cry 

ye made, 
To whom ye ran at every slightest 

hurt, — 
I cannot take you now into my lap 
And soothe your pain, but God 

will take you all 
Into his pitying arms, and comfort 

you, 
And give you rest. 

A voice (ivithiri). 

What wouldst thou ask of us ? 

Ready are we to die, but we will 

never 30 

Transgress the law and customs 

of our fathers. 

THE MOTHER. 

It is the voice of my first-born I 

O brave 
And noble boy! Thou hast the 

privilege • 

Of dying first, as thou wast born 

the first. 

the same voice (within). 
God looketh on us, and hath com 
fort in us ; 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



691 



As Moses in his song of old de- 
clared, 

He in his servants shall be com- 
forted. 

THE MOTHER. 

I knew thon wouldst not fail! — 

He speaks no more, 
He is beyond all pain ! 

ANTiochus (within). 

If thou eat not 
Thou shalt be tortured throughout 

all the members 40 

Of thy whole body. Wilt thou eat 

then? 



second voice (within). 



No. 



THE mother. 
It is Adaiah's voice. I tremble 

for him. 
I know his nature, devious as the 

wind, 
And swift to change, gentle and 

yielding always. 
Be steadfast, O my son ! 

THE SAME VOICE (within). 

Thou, like a fury, 
Takest us from this present life, 

but God, 
Who rules the world, shall raise us 

up again 
Into life everlasting. 

THE MOTHER. 

God, I thank thee 
That thou hast breathed into that 

timid heart 
Courage to die for thee. O my 

Adaiah, 50 

Witness of God ! if thou for whom 

I feared 
Canst thus encounter death, I need 

not fear ; 
The others will not shrink. 

third voice (within). 

Behold these hands 



Held out to thee, O King Anti. 

ochus, 
Not to implore thy mercy, but to 

show 
That I despise them. He who 

gave them to me 
Will give them back again. 

THE MOTHER. 

O Avilan, 
It is thy voice. For the last time 

I hear it ; 
For the last time on earth, but not 

the last. 
To death it bids defiance, and to 

torture. 60 

It sounds to me as from another 

world, 
And makes the petty miseries of 

this 
Seem unto me as naught, and less 

than naught. 
Farewell, my Avilan ; nay, I should 

say 
Welcome, my Avilan; for I am 

dead 
Before thee. I am waiting for the 

others. 
Why do they linger ? 

fourth voice (within). 

It is good, O King, 
Being put to death by men, to look 

for hope 
From God, to be raised up again 

by Him. 
But thou— no resurrection shalt 
thou have 70 

To life hereafter. 

THE MOTHER. 

Four ! already four ! 
Three are still living; nay, they 

all are living, 
Half here, half there. Make haste, 

Antiochus, 
To reunite us ; for the sword that 

cleaves 
These miserable bodies makes a 

door 



692 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



Through which our souls, impa- 
tient of release, 
Rush to each other's arms. 

fifth voice (within). 

Thou hast the power ; 
Thou doest what thou wilt. Abide 

awhile. 
And thou shalt see the power of 

God, and how 
He will torment thee and thy seed. 

THE MOTHER. 

O hasten ; 
Why dost thou pause ? Thou who 

hast slain already 81 

So many Hebrew women, and hast 

hung 
Their murdered infants round 

their necks, slay me, 
For I too am a woman, and these 

boys 
Are mine. Make haste to slay us 

all, 
And hang my lifeless babes about 

my neck. 

sixth voice (within). 
Think not, Antiochus, that takest 

in hand 
To strive against the God of Israel, 
Thou shalt escape unpunished, for 

his wrath 
Shall overtake thee and thy bloody 

house. 90 

THE MOTHER. 

One more, my Sirion, and then all 

is ended. 
Having put all to bed, then in my 

turn 
I will lie down and sleep as sound 

as they. 
My Sirion, my youngest, best be- 
loved ! 
And those bright golden locks, 

that I so oft 
Have curled about these fingers, 

even now 
Are foul with blood and dust, like 

a lamb's fleece, 



Slain in the shambles. — Not a 

sound I hear. 
This silence is more terrible to me 
Than any sound, than any cry of 

pain, 100 

That might escape the lips of one 

who dies. 
Doth his heart fail him ? Doth he 

fall away 
In the last hour from God? O 

Sirion, Sirion, 
Art thou afraid ? I do not hear 

thy voice. 
Die as thy brothers died. Thou 

must not live ! 



Scene II. — The Mother; An- 
tiochus ; Sirion. 

the mother. 
Are they all dead? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Of all thy Seven Sons 
One only lives. Behold them where 

they lie ; 
How dost thou like this picture ? 

THE MOTHER. 

God in heaven ! 

Can a man do such deeds, and yet 
not die 

By the recoil of his own wicked- 
ness? no 

Ye murdered, bleeding, mutilated 
bodies 

That were my children once, and 
still are mine, 

I cannot watch o'er you as'Eizpah 
watched 

In sackcloth o'er the seven sons of 
Saul, 

Till water drop upon you out of 
heaven 

And wash this blood away ! I can- 
not mourn 

As she, the daughter of Aiah, 
mourned the dead, 

From the beginning of the barley- 
harvest 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



693 



Until the autumn rains, and suf- 
fered not 
The birds of air to rest on them hy 

day, 120 

Nor the wild beasts hy night. For 

ye have died 
A better death, a death so full of 

life 
That I ought rather to rejoice than 

mourn. — 
Wherefore art thou not dead, O 

Sirion ? 
Wherefore art thou the only living 

thing 
Among thy brothers dead? Art 

thou afraid ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O woman, I have spared him for 

thy sake, 
For he is fair to look upon and 

comely ; 
And I have sworn to him by all the 

gods 
That I would crown his life with 

joy and honor, 130 

Heap treasures on him, luxuries, 

delights, 
Make him my friend and keeper of 

my secrets, 
If he would turn from your Mosaic 

Law 
And be as we are ; but he will not 

listen. 

THE MOTHER. 

My noble Sirion ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Therefore I beseech thee, 
Who art his mother, thou wouldst 

speak with him, 
And wouldst persuade him. I am 

sick of blood. 

THE MOTHER. 

Yea, I will speak with him and 

will persuade him. 
Sirion my son! have pity on 

me, 



On me that bare thee, and that 

gave thee suck, 140 

And fed and nourished thee, and 

brought thee up 
With the dear trouble of a mother's 

care 
Unto this age. Look on the hea- 
vens above thee, 
And on the earth and all that is 

therein ; 
Consider that God made them out 

of things 
That were not ; and that likewise 

in this manner 
Mankind was made. Then fear 

not this tormentor ; 
But, being worthy of thy brethren, 

take 
Thy death as they did, that I may 

receive thee 149 

Again in mercy with them. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I am mocked, 
Yea, I am laughed to scorn. 

SIRION. 

Whom wait ye for ? 

Never will I obey the King's com- 
mandment, 

But the commandment of the an- 
cient Law, 

That was by Moses given unto our 
fathers. 

And thou, O godless man, that of 
all others 

Art the most wicked, be not lifted 
up, 

Nor puffed up with uncertain 
hopes, uplifting 

Thy hand against the servants of 
the Lord, 

For thou hast not escaped the 
righteous judgment 

Of the Almighty God, who seeth 
all things ! 160 

ANTIOCHUS. 

He is no God of mine ; I fear Him 
not. 



694 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



SIRION. 


ACT III 


My brothers, who have suffered a 




brief pain, 


THE BATTLE-FIELD OF BETH- 


Are dead; but thou, Autiochus, 


HORON 


shalt suffer 
The punishment of pride. I offer 


Scene I. — Judas Maccabeus 


up 


in armor before his tent. 


My body and my life, beseeching 
God 


JUDAS. 


That He would speedily be merci- 


The trumpets sound; the echoes 


ful 


of the mountains 


Unto our nation, and that thou by 


Answer them, as the Sabbath 


plagues 


morning breaks 


Mysterious and by torments may- 


Over Beth-horon and its battle- 


est confess 


field, 


That He alone is God. 


Where the great captain of the 




hosts of God, 


ANTIOCHUS. 


A slave brought up in the brick- 


Ye both shall perish 


fields of Egypt, 


By torments worse than any that 


O'ercame the Amorites. There 


your God, 170 


was no day 


Here or hereafter, hath in store 


Like that, before or after it, nor 


for me. 


shall be. 




The sun stood still ; the hammers 


THE MOTHER. 


of the hail 


My Sirion, I am proud of thee ! 


Beat on their harness ; and the 




captains set 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Their weary feet upon the necks 


Be silent 


of kings, iq 


Go to thy bed of torture in yon 


As I will upon thine, Antiochus, 


chamber, 


Thou man of blood ! — Behold the 


"Where lie so many sleepers, heart- 


rising sun 


less mother ! 


Strikes on the golden letters of 


Thy footsteps will not wake them, 


my banner, 


nor thy voice, 


Be Elohim Yehovah! Who is 


Nor wilt thou hear, amid thy trou- 


like 


bled dreams, 


To thee, Lord, among the gods? 


Thy children crying for thee in the 


— Alas ! 


night ! 


I am not Joshua, I cannot say, 




'Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, 


THE MOTHER. 


and thou Moon, 


Death, that stretchest thy white 


In Ajalon ! ' Nor am I one who 


hands to me, 


wastes 


I fear them not, but press them to 


The fateful time in useless lamen- 


my lips, 


tation ; 


That are as white as thine ; for I 


But one who bears his life upon 


am Death, 180 


his hand 20 


Nay, am the Mother of Death, see- 


To lose it or to save it, as may 


ing these sons 


best 


All lying lifeless. — Kiss me, Si- 


Serve the designs of Him who giv- 


rion. 


eth life. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



695 



Scene II. — Judas Maccabeus; 
Jewish Fugitives. 

judas. 
Who and what are ye. that with 

furtive steps 
Steal in among our tents? 

FUGITIVES. 

O Maccabaeus, 
Outcasts are we, and fugitives as 

thou art, 
Jews of Jerusalem, that have es- 
caped 
From the polluted city, and from 
death. 

JUDAS. 

None can escape from death. Say 
that ye come 

To die for Israel, and ye are wel- 
come. 

"What tidings bring ye ? 

FUGITIVES. 

Tidings of despair. 
The Temple is laid waste; the 

precious vessels, 3 1 

Censers of gold, vials and veils 

and crowns, 
And golden ornaments, and hidden 

treasures, 
Have all been taken from it, and 

the Gentiles 
"With revelling and with riot fill its 

courts, 
And dally with harlots in the holy 

places. 

JUDAS. 

All this I knew before. 

FUGITIVES. 

Upon the altar, 
Are things profane, things by the 

law forbidden ; 
Nor can we keep our Sabbaths or 

our Feasts, 
But on the festivals of Dionysus 
Must walk in their processions, 

bearing ivy 41 

To crown a drunken god. 



JUDAS. 

This too I know. 
But tell me of the Jews. How fare 
the Jews ? 

FUGITIVES. 

The coming of this mischief hath 

been sore 
And grievous to the people. All 

the land 
Is full of lamentation and of 

mourning. 
The Princes and the Elders weep 

and wail ; 
The young men and the maidens 

are made feeble ; 
The beauty of the women hath 

been changed. 

JUDAS. 

And are there none to die for Is- 
rael ? 50 

'T is not enough to mourn. Breast- 
plate and harness 

Are better things than sackcloth. 
Let the women 

Lament for Israel ; the men should 
die. 

FUGITIVES. 

Both men and women die; old 

.men and young: 
Old Eleazer died : and Mahala 
With all her Seven Sons. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochus, 
At every step thou takest there is 

left 
A bloody footprint in the street, 

by which 
The avenging wrath of God will 

track thee out ! 
It is enough. Go to the sutler's 

tents : 60 

Those of you who are men, put on 

such armor 
As ye may find ; those of you who 

are women, 
Buckle that armor on; and for a 

watchword 



696 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



Whisper, or cry aloud, ' The Help 


Thou canst be strong, and yet not 


of God.' 


tyrannous, 




Canst righteous be and not intol- 


Scene III. — Judas Macca- 


erant. 


beus ; NICANOR. 


Let there be peace between us. 


NICANOR. 


JUDAS. 


Hail, Judas Maccabseus ! 


What is peace ? 




Is it to bow in silence to our vic- 


JUDAS. 


tors? 


Hail ! — Who art thou 


Is it to see our cities sacked and 


That coraest here in this mysteri- 


pillaged, 


ous guise 


Our people slain, or sold as slaves, 


Into our camp unheralded? 


or fleeing 




At night-time by the blaze of burn- 


NICANOR. 


ing towns ; 


A herald 


Jerusalem laid waste; the Holy 


Sent from Nicanor. 


Temple 




Polluted with strange gods ? Are 


JUDAS. 


these things peace ? 


Heralds come not thus. 




Armed with thy shirt of mail from 


NICANOR. 


head to heel, 


These are the dire necessities that 


Thou glidest like a serpent silent- 


wait 90 


ly 70 


On war, whose loud and bloody en- 


Into my presence. Wherefore dost 


ginery 


thou turn 


I seek to stay. Let there be peace 


Thy face from me? A herald 


between 


speaks his errand 


Antiochus and thee. 


With forehead unabashed. Thou 




art a spy 


JUDAS. 


Sent by Nicanor. 


Antiochus ? 




What is Antiochus, that he should 


NICANOR. 


prate 


No disguise avails ! 


Of peace to me,who am a fugitive ? 


Behold my face; I am Nicanor's 


To-day he shall be lifted up ; to- 


self. 


morrow 




Shall not be found, because he ^is 


JUDAS. 


returned 


Thou art indeed Nicanor. I salute 


Unto his dust; his thought has 


thee. 


come to nothing. 


What brings thee hither to this 


There is no peace between us, nor 


hostile camp 


can be, 


Thus unattended? 


Until this banner floats upon the 




walls 100 


NICANOR. 


Of our Jerusalem. 


Confidence in thee. 




Thou hast the nobler virtues of 


NICANOR. 


thy race, 


Between that city 


Without the failings that attend 


And thee there lies a waving wall 


those virtues. 80 


of tents 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



697 



Held by a host of forty thousand 


For battle. Lo, with trumpets and 


foot, 


with songs 


And horsemen seven thousand. 


The army of Nicanor comes against 


"What hast thou 


US. 120 


To bring against all these ? 


Go forth to meet them, praying in 




your hearts, 


JUDAS. 


And fighting with your hands. 


The power of God, 




"Whose breath shall scatter your 


CAPTAINS. 


white tents abroad, 


Look forth and see I 


As flakes of snow. 


The morning sun is s.hining on 




their shields 


NICANOR. 


Of gold and brass ; the mountains 


Your Mighty One in heaven 


glisten with them, 


Will not do battle on the Seventh 


And shine like lamps. And we, 


Day; 


who are so few 


It is his day of rest. 


And poorly armed, and ready to 




faint with fasting, 


JUDAS. 


How shall we fight against this 


Silence, blasphemer. 


multitude ? 


Go to thy tents. 






JUDAS. 


NICANOR. 


The victory of a battle standeth 


Shall it be war or peace ? 


not 




In multitudes, but in the strength 


JUDAS. 


that cometh 


War, war, and only war. Go to 


From heaven above. The Lord 


thy tents m 


forbid that I 130 


That shall be scattered, as by you 


Should do this thing, and flee away 


were scattered 


from them. 


The torn and trampled pages of 


Nay, if our hour be come, then let 


the Law, 


us die : 


Blown through the windy streets. 


Let us not stain our honor. 


NICANOR. 


CAPTAINS. 


Farewell, brave foe ! 


'T is the Sabbath. 




Wilt thou fight on the Sabbath, 


JUDAS. 


Maccabaeus? 


Ho, there, my captains! Have 




safe-conduct given 


JUDAS. 


Unto Nicanor's herald through 


Ay ; when I fight the battles of the 


the camp, 


Lord, 


And come yourselves to me.— 


I fight them on his day, as on all 


Farewell, Nicanor ! 


others. 




Have ye forgotten certain fugi- 


Scene IV. — Judas Macca- 


tives 


beus ; Captains and Sol- 


That fled once to these hills, and 


diers. 


hid themselves 




In caves? How their pursuers 


JUDAS. 


camped against them 


The hour is come. Gather the 


Upon the Seventh Day, and chal- 


host together 


lenged them? 140 



698 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



And how they answered not, nor 

cast a stone, 
Nor stopped the places where they 

lay concealed, 
But meekly perished with their 

wives and children, 
Even to the number of a thousand 

souls ? 
We who are fighting for our laws 

and lives 
Will not so perish. 

CAPTAINS. 

Lead us to the battle ! 

JUDAS. 

And let our watchword be, ' The 

Help of God ! ' 
Last night I dreamed a dream ; 

and in my vision 
Beheld Onias, our High-Priest of 

old, 
Who holding up his hands prayed 

for the Jews. 150 

This done, in the like manner 

there appeared 
An old man, and exceeding glo- 
rious, 
With hoary hair, and ot a wonder- 
ful 
And excellent majesty. And 

Onias said : 
4 This is a lover of the Jews, who 

prayeth 
Much for the people and the Holy 

City,- 
God's prophet Jeremias.' And 

the prophet 
Held forth his right hand and 

gave unto me 
A sword of gold ; and giving it he 

said: 
1 Take thou this holy sword, a gift 

from God, 160 

And with it thou shalt wound 

thine adversaries.' 

CAPTAINS. 

The Lord is with us ! 

JUDAS. 

Hark ! I hear the trumpets 



Sound from Beth-horon ; from the 
battle-field 

Of Joshua, where he smote the 
Amorites, 

Smote the Five Kings of Eglon 
and of Jarmuth, 

Of Hebron, Lachish, and Jeru- 
salem, 

As we to-day will smite Nicanor's 
hosts 

And leave a memory of great 
deeds behind us. 

CAPTAINS AND SOUDIEKS. 

The Help of God ! 

JUDAS. 

Be Elohim Yehovah ! 
Lord, thou didst send thine Angel 
in the time 170 

Of Esekias, King of Israel, 
And in the armies of Sennacherib 
Didst slay a hundred fourscore 

and five thousand. 
Wherefore, O Lord of heaven, now 

also send 
Before us a good angel for a fear, 
And through the might of thy 

right arm let those 
Be stricken with terror that have 

come this day 
Against thy holy people to blas- 
pheme ! 



ACT IV 

THE OUTER COURTS OF THE 
TEMPLE AT JERUSALEM 

Scene I. — Judas Macca- 
beus; CAPTAINS; JEWS. 

JUDAS. 

Behold, our enemies are discom- 
fited. 

Jerusalem has fallen; and our 
banners 

Float from her battlements, and 
o'er her gates 

Nicanor's severed head, a sign of 
terror, 

Blackens in wind and sun. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



699 



CAPTAINS. 


I hold you back no longer. Batter 


Maccabseus, 


down 


The citadel of Antiochus, wherein 


The citadel of Antiochus, while 


The Mother with her Seven Sons 


here 


was murdered, 


We sweep away his altars and his 


Is still defiant. 


gods. 


JUDAS. 




Wait. 


Scene II. — Judas Macca- 




beus ; Jason ; Jews. 


CAPTAINS. 




Its hateful aspect 


jews. 


Insults us with the bitter mem- 


Lurking among the ruins of the 


ories 


Temple, 


Of other days. . 


Deep in its inner courts, we found 




this man, 


JUDAS. 


Clad as High-Priest. 


Wait ; it shall disappear 




And vanish as a cloud. First let 


JUDAS. 


us cleanse 1 1 


I ask not who thou art, 


The Sanctuary. See, it is become 


I know thy face, writ over with de- 


Waste like a wilderness. Its gold- 


ceit 31 


en gates 


As are these tattered volumes of 


Wrenched from their hinges and 


the Law 


consumed by fire ; 


With heathen images. A priest 


Shrubs growing in its courts as in 


of God 


a forest: 


Wast thou in other days, but thou 


Upon its altars hideous and strange 


art now 


idols ; 


A priest of Satan. Traitor, thou 


And strewn about its pavement 


art Jason. 


at my feet 




Its Sacred Books, half-burned and 


JASON. 


painted o'er 


I am thy prisoner , Judas Macca- 


With images of heathen gods. 


bgeus, 




And it would ill become me to 


JEWS. 


conceal 


Woe ! woe ! 


My name or office. 


Our beauty and our glory are laid 




waste ! 20 


JUDAS. 


The Gentiles have profaned our 


Over yonder gate 


holy places ! 


There hangs the head of one who 


{Lamentation and alarm of trum- 


was a Greek. 


pets.) 


What should prevent me now, thou 




man of sin, 40 


JUDAS. 


From hanging at its side the head 


This sound of trumpets, and this 


of one 


lamentation, 


Who born a Jew hath made him- 


The heart-cry of a people toward 


self a Greek? 


the heavens, 




Stir me to wrath and vengeance. 


JASON. 


Go, my captains ; 


Justice prevents thee. 



700 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



JUDAS. 

Justice? Thou art stained 
With every crime 'gainst which 

the Decalogue 
Thunders with all its thunder. 

JASON. 

If not Justice, 
Then Mercy, her handmaiden. 

JUDAS. 

When hast thou 
At any time, to any man or wo- 
man, 
Or even to any little child, shown 
mercy ? 

JASON. 

I have but done what King An- 

tiochus 
Commanded me. 

JUDAS. 

True, thou hast been the weapon 
With which he struck; but hast 

been such a weapon, 51 

So flexible, so fitted to his hand, 
It tempted him to strike. So thou 

hast urged him 
To double wickedness, thine own 

and his. 
Where is this King ? Is he in An- 

tioch 
Among his women still, and from 

his windows 
Throwing down gold by handfuls, 

for the rabble 
To scramble for? 

JASON. 

Nay, he is gone from there, 
Gone with an army into the far 
East. 

JUDAS. 

And wherefore gone ? 

JASON. 

I know not. For the space 
Of forty days almost were horse- 
men seen 61 



Running in air, in cloth of gold, 

and armed 
With lances, like a band of sol. 

diery ; 
It was a sign of triumph. 

JUDAS. 

Or of death. 
Wherefore art thou not with 
him? 

JASON. 

I was left 
For service in the Temple. 

JUDAS. 

To pollute it, 
And to corrupt the Jews ; for there 

are men 
Whose presence is corruption ; to 

be with them 
Degrades us and deforms the 

things we do. 

JASON. 

I never made a boast, as some 
men do, 70 

Of my superior virtue, nor de- 
nied 

The weakness of my nature, that 
hath made me 

Subservient to the will of other 
men. 

JUDAS. 

Upon this day, the five-and-twenti- 

eth day 
Of the montb Caslan, was the Tem- 
ple here 
Profaned by strangers, -r- by An- 

tiochus 
And thee, his instrument. Upon 

this day 
Shall it be cleansed. Thou, who 

didst lend thyself 
Unto this profanation, canst not 

be 
A witness of these solemn ser- 

vices. 80 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



701 



There can be nothing clean where 

thou art present. 
The people put to death Callis- 

thenes, 
Who burned the Temple gates; 

and if they find thee 
Will surely slay thee. I will spare 

thy life 
To punish thee the longer. Thou 

shalt wander 
Among strange nations. Thou, 

that hast cast out 
So many from their native land, 

shalt perish 
In a strange land. Thou, that 

hast left so many 
Unburied, shalt have none to 

mourn for thee, 
Nor any solemn funerals at all, 90 
Nor sepulchre with thy fathers. — 

Get thee hence ! 

Music. Procession of Priests and 
people, with citherns, harps, and 
cymbals. Judas Maccabeus 
puts himself at their head, and 
they go into the inner courts. 



Scene III. — Jason alone. 

JASON. 

Through the Gate Beautiful I see 

them come, 
With branches and green boughs 

and leaves of palm, 
And pass into the inner courts. 

Alas ! 
I should be with them, should be 

one of them, 
But in an evil hour, an hour of 

weakness, 
That cometh unto all, I fell away 
From the old faith, and did not 

clutch the new, 
Only an outward semblance of be- 
lief; 
For the new faith I cannot make 

mine own, 100 



Not being born to it. It hath no 
root 

Within me. I am neither Jew nor 
Greek, 

But stand between them both, a 
renegade 

To each in turn ; having no longer 
faith 

In gods or men. Then what mys- 
terious charm, 

What fascination is it chains my 
feet, 

And keeps me gazing like a curi- 
ous child 

Into the holy places, where the 
priests 

Have raised their altar ? — Strik- 
ing stones together, 

They take fire out of them, and 
light the lamps no 

In the great candlestick. They 
spread the veils, 

And set the loaves of shewbread 
on the table. 

The incense burns ; the well-re- 
membered odor 

Comes wafted unto me, and takes 
me back 

To other days. I see myself 
among them 

As I was then ; and the old super- 
stition 

Creeps over me again I — A child- 
ish fancy ! — 

And hark ! they sing with citherns 
and with cymbals, 

And all the people fall upon their 
faces, 

Praying and worshipping !— I will 
away 120 

Into the East, to meet Antio- 
chus 

Upon his homeward journey, 
crowned with triumph. • 

Alas ! to-day I would give every- 
thing 

To see a friend's face, or to hear a 
voice 

That had the slightest tone of 
comfort in it ! 



702 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ACT V 


PHILIP. 




Be not discouraged. 


THE MOUNTAINS OF ECBATANA 


Thy realm of Syria remains to 




thee ; 


Scene L— Antiochus; Philip; 


That is not lost nor marred. 


Attendants. 






ANTIOCHUS. 


ANTIOCHUS. 


Oh, where are now 


Here let us rest awhile. Where 


The splendors of my court, my 


are we, Philip ? 


baths and banquets ? 20 


What place is this ? 


Where are my players and my 




dancing women ? 


PHILIP. 


Where are my sweet musicians 


Echatana, my Lord ; 


with their pipes, 


And yonder mountain range is the 


That made me merry in the olden 


Orontes. 


time ? 




I am a laughing-stock to man and 


ANTIOCHUS. 


brute. 


The Orontes is my river at Antioch. 


The very camels, with their ugly 


Why did I leave it? Why have I 


faces, 


been tempted 


Mock me and laugh at me. 


By coverings of gold and shields 




and breastplates 


PHILIP. 


To plunder Elymais,and be driven 


Alas ! my Lord, 


From out its gates, as by a fiery 


It is not so. If thou wouldst sleep 


blast 


awhile, 


Out of a furnace ? 


All would be well. 


PHILIP. 


ANTIOCHUS. 


These are fortune's changes. 


Sleep from mine eyes is gone, 


ANTIOCHUS. 


And my heart faileth me for very 
care. 


What a defeat it was ! The Per- 


Dost thou remember, Philip, the 


sian horsemen 10 


old fable 30 


Came like a mighty wind, the wind 


Told us when we were boys, in 


Khamaseen, 


which the bear 


And melted us away, and scat- 


Going for honey overturns the 


tered us 


hive, 


As if we were dead leaves, or des- 


And is stung blind by bees ? J. am 


ert sand. 


that beast, 




Stung by the Persian swarms of 


PHILIP. 


Elymais. 


Be comforted, my Lord; for thou 




♦ hast lost 


PHILIP. 


But what thou hadst not. 


When thou art come again to An- 




tioch, 


ANTIOCHUS. 


These thoughts will be as covered 


I, who made the Jews 


and forgotten 


Skip like the grasshoppers, am 


As are the tracks of Pharaoh's 


made myself 


chariot-wheels 


To skip among these stones. 


In the Egyptian sands. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



703 



ANTIOCHUS. 

Ah ! when I come 
Again to Antioch ! When will that 
be? 39 

Alas! alas! 



Scene II. — Antiochus ; 
Philip ; A Messenger. 

MESSENGER. 

May the King live forever ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Who art thou, and whence comest 
thou? 

MESSENGER. 

My Lord, 
I am a messenger from Antioch, 
Sent here by Lysias. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A strange foreboding 

Of something evil overshadows 
me. 

I am no reader of the Jewish 
Scriptures ; 

I know not Hebrew ; but my High- 
Priest Jason, 

As I remember, told me of a Pro- 
phet 

Who saw a little cloud rise from 
the sea 

Like a man's hand, and soon the 
heaven was black 

With clouds and rain. Here, 
Philip, read ; I cannot ; 50 

I see that cloud. It makes the let- 
ters dim 

Before mine eyes. 

Philip {reading). 

' To King Antiochus, 
The God, Epiphanes.' 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Oh mockery ! 
Even Lysias laughs at me!— Go 
on, go on ! 



Philip {reading). 
' We pray thee hasten thy return. 

The realm 
Is falling from thee. Since thou 

hast gone from us 
The victories of Judas Maccabae- 

us 
Form all our annals. First he 

overthrew 
Thy forces at Beth-horon, and 

passed on, 
And took Jerusalem, the Holy 

City. 60 

And then Emmaus fell ; and then 

Bethsura, 
Ephron and all the towns of Ga- 

laad, 
And Maccabseus marched to Car- 

nion.' 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Enough, enough! Go call my 

chariot-men ; 
We will drive forward, forward, 

without ceasing, 
Until we come to Antioch. My 

captains, 
My Lysias, Gorgias, Seron, and 

Nicanor, 
Are babes in battle, and this 

dreadful Jew 
Will rob me of my kingdom and 

my crown. 
My elephants shall trample him to 

dust ; 70 

I will wipe out his nation, and will 

make 
Jerusalem a common burying- 

place, 
And every home within its walls a 

tomb! 

Throws up his hands, and sinks 
into the arms of attendants, who 
lay him upon a bank. 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus ! Antiochus I Alas, 
The King is ill ! What is it, O my 
Lord? 



704 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



ANTIOCHUS. 


Unto the citizens of Antioch. 


Nothing. A sudden and sharp 


I will become a Jew, and will de- 


spasm of pain, 


clare 


As if the lightning struck me, or 


Through all the world that is in- 


the knife 


habited 99 


Of an assassin smote me to the 


The power of God ! 


heart. 




'T is passed, even as it came. Let 


PHILIP. 


us set forward. 


He faints. It is like death. 




Bring here the royal litter. We 


PHILIP. 


will bear him 


See that the chariots be in readi- 


Into the camp, while yet he lives. 


ness ; 80 




"We will depart forthwith. 


ANTIOCHUS. 




Philip, 


ANTIOCHTJS. 


Into what tribulation am I come ! 


A moment more. 


Alas ! I now remember all the evil 


I cannot stand. I am become at 


That I have done the Jews ; and 


once 


for this cause 


Weak as an infant. Ye will have 


These troubles are upon me, and 


to lead me. 


behold 


Jove, or Jehovah, or whatever 


I perish through great grief in a 


name 


strange land. 


Thou wouldst be named, — it is 




alike to me, — 


PHILIP. 


If I knew how to pray, I would en- 


Antiochus ! my King ! 


treat 




To live a little longer. 


ANTIOCHUS. 




Nay, King no longer. 


PHILIP. 


Take thou my royal robes, my sig- 


my Lord, 


net ring, 


Thou shalt not die ; we will not let 


My crown and sceptre, and deliver 


thee die ! 


them no 




Unto my son, Antiochus Eupator ; 


ANTIOCHUS. 


And unto the good Jews, my citi- 


How canst thou help it, Philip? 


zens, 


Oh the pain ! 


In all my towns, say that their 


Stab after stab. Thou hast no 


dying monarch 


shield against 90 


Wisheth them joy, prosperity, and 


This unseen weapon. God of Is- 


health. 


rael, 


I who, puffed up with pride and 


Since all the other gods abandon 


arrogance, 


me, 


Thought all the kingdoms of the 


Help me. I will release the Holy 


earth mine own, 


City, 


If I would but outstretch my hand 


Garnish with goodly gifts the Holy 


and take them, 


Temple. 


Meet face to face a greater poten- 


Thy people, whom I judged to be 


tate, 


unworthy 


King Death — Epiphanes — the 


To be so much as buried, shall be 


Illustrious ! 


equal 


[Die? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



705 



MICHAEL ANGELO: A FRAGMENT 



Michel piu che mortal, Angel divino. 

Ariosto. 
Similamente operando all' artista 
Ch' a 1' abito dell' arte e man che trema. 

Dante, Par. xiii. st. 77. 



DEDICATION 

Nothing that is shall perish ut- 
terly, 
But perish only to revive again 
In other forms, as clouds restore 

in rain 
The exhalations of the land and 

sea. 
Men build their houses from the 

masonry 
Of ruined tombs ; the passion 

and the pain 
Of hearts, that long have ceased 

to beat, remain 
To throb in hearts that are, or 

are to be. 
So from old chronicles, where 

sleep in dust 
Names that once filled the world 

with trumpet tones, 
I build this verse; and flowers 

of song have thrust 
Their roots among the loose dis- 
jointed stones, 
Which to this end I fashion as I 

must. 
Quickened are they that touch 

the Prophet's bones. 



PART FIEST 

I 

PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA 

The Castle Terrace. Vittoria 
Colonna and Julia Gonzaga. 

VITTORIA. 

Will you then leave me, Julia, 
and so soon, 



To pace alone this terrace like a 
ghost ? 

JULIA. 

To-morrow, dearest. 

VITTORIA. 

Do not say to-morrow. 
A whole month of to-morrows were 

too soon. 
You must not go. You are a part 

of me. 

JULIA. 

I must return to Fondi. 

VITTORIA. 

The old castle 
Needs not your presence. No one 

waits for you. 
Stay one day longer with me. 

They who go 
Feel not the pain of parting ; it is 

they 
Who stay behind that suffer. I 

was thinking 10 

But yesterday how like and how 

unlike 
Have been, and are, our destinies. 

Your husband, 
The good Vespasian, an old man, 

who seemed 
A father to you rather than a hus- 
band, 
Died in your arms; but mine, in 

all the flower 
And promise of his youth, was 

taken from me 
As by a rushing wind. The breath 

of battle 
Breathed on him, and I saw his 

face no more. 



706 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Save as in dreams it haunts me. 
As our love 

Was for these men, so is our sor- 
row for them. 20 

Yours a child's sorrow, smiling 
through its tears ; 

But mine the grief of an impas- 
sioned woman, 

Who drank her life up in one 
draught of love. 

JULIA. 

Behold this locket. This is the 
white hair 

Of my Vespasian. This the flower- 
of-love, 

This amaranth, and heneath it the 
device, 

Non moritura. Thus my heart 
remains 

True to his memory ; and the an- 
cient castle, 

Where we have lived together, 
wbere he died, 29 

Is dear to me as Ischia is to you. 

VITTORIA. 

I did not mean to chide you. 

JULIA. 

Let your heart 

Find, if it can, some poor apology 

For one who is too young, and feels 
too keenly 

The joy of life, to give up all her 
days 

To sorrow for the dead. While I 
am true 

To the remembrance of the man I 
loved 

And mourn for still, I do not make 
a show 

Of all the grief I feel, nor live se- 
cluded 

And, like Veronica da Gambara, 

Drape my whole house in mourn- 
ing, and drive forth 40 

In coach of sable drawn by sable 
horses, 

As if I were a corpse. Ah, one to- 
day 



Is worth for me a thousand yester- 
days. 

VITTORIA. 

Dear Julia ! Friendship has its 

jealousies 
As well as love. Who waits for 

you at Fondi ? 

JULIA. 

A friend of mine and yours; a 

friend and friar. 
You have at Naples your Fra 

Bernardino ; 
And I at Fondi have my Fra Bas- 

tiano, 
The famous artist, who has come 

from Rome 
To paint my portrait. That is not 

a sin. 50 

VITTORIA. 

Only a vanity. 

JULIA. 

He painted yours. 

VITTORIA. 

Do not call up to me those days 

departed, 
When I was young, and all was 

bright about me, 
And the vicissitudes of life were 

things 
But to be read of in old histories, 
Though as pertaining unto me or 

mine 
Impossible. Ah, then I dreamed 

your dreams, 
And now, grown older, I look back 

and see 
They were illusions. 

JULIA. 

Yet without illusions 
What would our lives become, 

what we ourselves ? 60 

Dreams or illusions, call them 

what you will, 
They lift us from the commonplace 

of life 
To better things. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



707 



VITTORIA. 

Are there no brighter dreams, 
No higher aspirations, than the 

wish 
To please and to be pleased? 

JULIA. 

For you there are : 
I am no saint ; I feel the world we 

live in 
Comes before that which is to be 

hereafter, 
And must be dealt with first. 

VITTORIA. 

But in what way ? 

JULIA. 

Let the soft wind that wafts to us 
the odor 

Of orange blossoms, let the laugh- 
ing sea 70 

And the bright sunshine bathing 
all the world, 

Answer the question. 

VITTORIA. 

And for whom is meant 
This portrait that you speak of? 

JULIA. 

For my friend 
The Cardinal Ippolito. 



VITTORIA. 



For him ? 



JULIA. 

Yes, for Ippolito the Magnificent. 
'T is always flattering to a woman's 

pride 
To be admired by one whom all 

admire. 

VITTORIA. 

Ah, Julia, she that makes herself 
a dove 

Is eaten by the hawk. Be on your 
guard. 

He is a Cardinal; and his adora- 
tion 80 

Should be elsewhere directed. 



JULIA. 

You forget 
The horror of that night, when 

Barbarossa, 
The Moorish corsair, landed on 

our coast 
To seize me for the Sultan Soli- 
man; 
How in the dead of night, when all 

were sleeping, 
He scaled the castle wall ; how I 

escaped, 
And in my night-dress, mounting a 

swift steed, 
Fled to the mountains, and took 

refuge there 
Among the brigands. Then of all 

my friends 
The Cardinal Ippolito was first 90 
To come with his retainers to my 

rescue. 
Could I refuse the only boon he 

asked 
At such a time, my portrait? 

VITTORIA. 

I have heard 

Strange stories of the splendors of 
his palace, 

And how, apparelled like a Span-" 
ish Prince, 

He rides through Rome with a long 
retinue 

Of Ethiopians and Numidians 

And Turks and Tartars, in fantas- 
tic dresses, 

Making a gallant show. Is this 
the way 

A Cardinal should live ? 

JULIA. 

He is so young ; 
Hardly of age, or little more than 

that; 10 1 

Beautiful, generous, fond of arts 

and letters, 
A poet, a musician, and a scholar: 
Master of many languages, and a 

player 
On many instruments. In Rome 

his palace 



708 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Is the asylum of all men distin- 


JULIA. 


guished 


You too can paint 


In art or science, and all Floren- 


The portrait of your hero, and in 


tines 


colors 


Escaping from the tyranny of his 


Brighter than Titian's; I might 


cousin, 


warn you also 


Duke Alessandro. 


Against the dangers that beset 




your path ; 129 


VITTORIA. 


But I forbear. 


I have seen his portrait, 




Painted by Titian. You have 


VITTORIA. 


painted it no 


If I were made of marble, 


In brighter colors. 


Of Fior di Persico or Pavonaz- 


JULIA. 


zo, 
He might admire me : being but 


And my Cardinal, 


flesh and blood, 


At Itri, in the courtyard of his 


I am no more to him than other 


palace, 


women ; 


Keeps a tame lion ! 


That is, am nothing. 


VITTORIA. 


JULIA. 


And so counterfeits 


Does he ride through Eome 


St. Mark, the Evangelist ! 


Upon his little mule, as he was 




wont, 


JULIA. 


With his slouched hat, and boots 


Ah, your tame lion 


of Cordovan, 


Is Michael Angelo. 


As when I saw him last ? 


VITTORIA. 


VITTORIA. 


You speak a name 


Pray do not jest 


That always thrills me with a noble 


I cannot couple with his noble 


sound, 


name 


As of a trumpet ! Michael Ange- 


A trivial word! Look, how the 


lo! 


setting sun 


A lion all men fear and none can 


Lights up Castel-a-mare and Sor. 


tame; 


rento, 140 


A man that all men honor, and the 


And changes Capri to a purple 


model 


cloud ! 


That all should follow : one who 


And there Vesuvius with its plume 


works and prays, 120 


of smoke, 


For work is prayer, and conse- 


And the great city stretched upon 


crates his life 


the shore 


To the sublime ideal of his art, 


As in a dream ! 


Till art and life are one ; a man 
who holds 


JULIA. 


Such place in all men's thoughts, 


Parthenope the Siren ! 


that when they speak 




Of great things done, or to be done, 


VITTORIA. 


his name 


And yon long line of lights, those 


Is ever on their lips. 


sunlit windows 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



709 



Blaze like the torches carried in 

procession 
To do her honor ! It is beautiful ! 

JULIA. 

I have no heart to feel the beauty 
of it! 

My feet are weary, pacing up and 
down 

These level flags, and wearier still 
my thoughts 150 

Treading the broken pavement of 
the Past. 

It is too sad. I will go in and 
rest, 

And make me ready for to-mor- 
row's journey. 

VITTORIA. 

I will go with you ; for I would not 

lose 
One hour of your dear presence. 

'T is enough 
Only to be in the same room with 

you. 
I need not speak to you, nor hear 

you speak ; 
If I but see you, I am satisfied. 

{They go in. 



MONOLOGUE: THE LAST JUDG- 
MENT 

Michael Angelo's Studio. He 
is at work, on the cartoon of the 
Last Judgment. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Why did the Pope and bis ten 

Cardinals 
Come here to lay this heavy task 
upon me? 160 

Were not the paintings on the 

Sistine ceiling 
Enough for them ? They saw the 

Hebrew leader- 
Waiting, and clutching his tem- 
pestuous beard, 
But heeded not. The bones of 
Julius 



Shook in their sepulchre. I heard 

the sound ; 
They only heard the sound of their 

own voices. 

Are there no other artists here in 
Eome 

To do this work, that they must 
needs seek me ? 

Fra Bastian,my Fra Bastian,might 
have done it, 

But he is lost to art. The Papal 
Seals, 170 

Like leaden weights upon a dead 
man's eyes, 

Press down his lids; and so the 
burden falls 

On Michael Angelo, Chief Archi- 
tect 

And Painter of the Apostolic Pal- 
ace. 

That is the title they cajole me ' 
with, 

To make me do their work and 
leave my own ; 

But having once begun, I turn not 
back. 

Blow, ye bright angels, on your 
golden trumpets 

To the four corners of the earth, 
and wake 

The dead to judgment! Ye re- 
cording angels, 180 

Open your books and read.' Ye 
dead, awake ! 

Eise from your graves, drowsy and 
drugged with death, 

As men who suddenly aroused 
from sleep 

Look round amazed, and know 
not where they are ! 

In happy hours, when the imagina- 
tion 

Wakes like a wind at midnight, 
and the soul 

Trembles in all its leaves, it is a 
joy 

To be uplifted on its wings, and 
listen 

To the prophetic voices in the air 



7io 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



That call us onward. Then the 
work we do 190 

Is a delight, and the obedient hand 

Never grows weary. But how dif- 
ferent is it 

In the disconsolate, discouraged 
hours, 

When all the wisdom of the world 
appears 

As trivial as the gossip of a nurse 

In a sick-room, and all our work 
seems useless. 

What is it guides my hand, what 
thoughts possess me, 

That I have drawn her face among 
the angels, 

Where she will he hereafter? 
sweet dreams, 

That through the vacant cham- 
bers of my heart 200 

Walk in the silence, as familiar 
phantoms 

Frequent an ancient house, what 
will ye with me ? 

'Tis said that Emperors write 
their names in green 

When under age, but when of age 
in purple. 

So Love, the greatest Emperor of 
them all, 

Writes his in green at first, but 
afterwards 

In the imperial purple of our 
blood. 

First love or last love, — which of 
these two passions 

Is more omnipotent? Which is 
more fair, 

The star of morning, or the even- 
ing star? 210 

The sunrise or the sunset of the 
heart ? 

The hour when we look forth to 
the unknown, 

And the advancing day consumes 
the shadows, 

Or that when all the landscape of 
our lives 

Lies stretched behind us, and fa- 
miliar ©laces 



Gleam in the distance, and sweet 
memories 

Eise like a tender haze, and mag- 
nify 

The objects we behold, that soon 
must vanish? 

What matters it to me, whose 

countenance 
Is like Laocoon's, full of pain? 

whose forehead 220 

Is a ploughed harvest-field, where 

threescore years 
Have sown in sorrow and have 

reaped in anguish ? 
To me, the artisan, to whom all 

women 
Have been as if they were not, or 

at most 
A sudden rush of pigeons in the 

air, 
A flutter of wings, a sound, and 

then a silence ? 
I am too old for love ; I am too old 
To flatter and delude myself with 

visions 
Of never-ending friendship with 

fair women, 
Imaginations, fantasies, illusions, 
In which the things that cannot 

be take shape, 23 1 

And seem to be, and for the mo- 
ment are. 

Convent bells ring. 

Distant and near and low and loud 
the bells, 

Dominican, Benedictine, and Fran- 
ciscan, 

Jangle and wrangle in their airy 
towers, 

Discordant as the brotherhoods 
themselves 

In their dim cloisters. The de- 
scending sun 

Seems to caress the city that he 
loves, 

And crowns it with the aureole 01 
a saint. 

I will go forth and breathe the air 
awhile. 240 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



711 



II 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


SAN SILVESTRO 


If friends of yours, then are they 




friends of mine. 


A. Chapel in the Church of San 


Pardon me, gentlemen. But when 


Silvestro on Monte Cavallo. 


I entered 




I saw hut the Marchesa. 


VlTTORIA COLONNA, CL AUDIO 




Tolommei, and others. 


VlTTORIA. 




Take this seat 


VlTTORIA. 


Between me and Ser Claudio To- 


Here let us rest awhile, until the 


lommei, 261 


crowd 


Who still maintains that our Italian 


Has left the church. I have al- 


tongue 


ready sent 


Should be called Tuscan. But for 


For Michael Angelo to join us 


that offence 


here. 


We will not quarrel with him. 


MBSSER CLAUDIO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


After Fra Bernardino's wise dis- 


Eccellenza — 


course 




On the Pauline Epistles, certainly 


VlTTORIA. 


Some words of Michael Angelo on 


Ser Claudio has banished Eccel- 


Art 


lenza 


Were not amiss, to hring us back 


And all such titles from the Tus- 


to earth. 


can tongue. 


michabl angelo, at the door. 


MESSER CLAUDIO. 


How like a Saint or Goddess she 


'T is the abuse of them, and not the 


appears ! 


use, 


Diana or Madonna, which I know 

not, 
In attitude and aspect formed to he 


I deprecate. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


At once the artist's worship and 


The use or the abuse, 


despair! 251 


It matters not. Let them all go 




together, 


VlTTORIA. 


As empty phrases and frivoli- 


"Welcome, Maestro. "We were wait- 


ties, 


ing for you. 


And common as gold-lace upon the 




collar 271 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Of an obsequious lackey. 


I met your messenger upon the 




way, 


VlTTORIA. 


And hastened hither. 


That may be, 




But something of politeness would 


VlTTORIA. 


go with them ; 


It is kind of you 


We should lose something of the 


To come to us, who linger here 


stately manners 


like gossips 


Of the old school. 


Wasting the afternoon in idle talk. 




These are all friends of mine and 


MESSER CLAUDIO. 


friends of yours. 


Undoubtedly. 



712 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



VITTORIA. 

But that 

Is not what occupies my thoughts 
at present, 

Nor why I sent for you, Messer 
Michele. 

It was to counsel me. His Holi- 
ness 

Has granted me permission, long 
desired, , 

To build a convent in this neigh- 
borhood, 280 

Where the old tower is standing, 
from whose top 

Nero looked down upon the burn- 
ing city. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is an inspiration ! 

VITTORIA. 

I am doubtful 
How I shall build; how large to 

make the convent, 
And which way fronting, 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, to build, to build ! 

That is the noblest art of all the 
arts. 

Painting and sculpture are but 
images, 

Are merely shadows cast by out- 
ward things 

On stone or canvas, having in them- 
selves 

No separate existence. Architec- 
ture, 290 

Existing in itself, and not in seem- 
ing 

A something it is not, surpasses 
them 

As substance shadow. Long, long 
years ago, 

Standing one morning near the 
Baths of Titus, 

I saw the statue of Laocoon 

Rise from its grave of centuries, 
like a ghost 

Writhing in pain; and as it tore 
away 



The knotted serpents from its 

limbs, I heard. 
Or seemed to hear, the cry of 

agony 
From its white, parted lips. And 

skill I marvel 300 

At the three Rhodian artists, by 

whose hands 
This miracle was wrought. Yet 

he beholds 
Far nobler works who looks upon 

the ruins 
Of temples in the Forum here in 

Rome. 
If God should give me power in 

my old age 
To build for Him a temple half as 

grand 
As those were in their glory, I 

should count 
My age more excellent than youth 

itself, 
And all that I have hitherto ac- 
complished 
As only vanity. 

VITTORIA. 

I understand you. 
Art is the gift of God, and must be 

used 311 

Unto His glory. That in art is 

highest 
Which aims at this. When St. 

Hilarion blessed 
The horses of Italicus, they 

won 
The race at Gaza, for his benedic- 
tion 
O'erpowered all magic; and the 

people shouted 
That Christ had conquered Mar- 

nas. So that art 
Which bears the consecration and 

the seal 
Of holiness upon it will prevail 
Over all others. Those few words 

of yours 320 

Inspire me with new confidence 

to build. 
What think you? The old walls 

might serve, perhaps, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



713 



Some purpose still. The tower 


In strange attire ; these endless 


can hold the bells. 


antechambers ; 




This lighted hall, with all its gold- 


MICHAEL AKGELO. 


en splendors, 


If strong enough. 


Pictures, and statues! Can this 




be the dwelling 


VITTORIA. 


Of a disciple of that lowly Man 


If not, it can be strengthened. 


Who had not where to lay his 




head? These statues 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Are not of Saints; nor is this a" 


I see no bar nor drawback to this 


Madonna, 340 


building, 


This lovely face, that with such 


And on our homeward way, if it 


tender eyes 


shall please you, 


Looks down upon me from the 


We may together view the site. 


painted canvas. 




My heart begins to fail me. What 


VITTORIA. 


can he 


I thank you. 


Who lives in boundless luxury at 


I did not venture to request so 


Kome 


much. 


Care for the imperilled liberties of 




Florence, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Her people, her Republic? Ah, 


Let us now go to the old walls 


the rich 


you spake of, 


Feel not the pangs of banishment. 


Vossignoria — 


All doors 




Are open to them, and all hands 


VITTORIA. 


extended. 


What, again, Maestro ? 


The poor alone are outcasts ; they 




who risked 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


All they possessed for liberty, and 


Pardon me, Messer Claudio, if 


lost; 350 


once more 331 


And wander through the world 


I use the ancient courtesies of 


without a friend, 


speech. 


Sick, comfortless, distressed, un- 


I am too old to change. 


known, uncared for. 


Ill 


Scene II. — Jacopo Nardi ; 


CARDINAL IPPOLITO 


Cardinal Ippolito, in Span- 




ish cloak and slouched hat. 


Scene I. — A richly furnished 




apartment in the Palace of 


IPPOLITO. 


Cardinal Ippolito. Night. 


I pray you pardon me if I have 


Jacopo Nardi, an old man, 


kept you 


alone. 


Waiting so long alone. 


NARDI. 


NARDI. 


1 am bewildered. These Numid- 


I wait to see 


ian slaves, 


The Cardinal. 



7H 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And you? 



IPPOLITO. 

I am the Cardinal ; 

NARDI. 

Jacopo Nardi. 



IPPOLITO. 

You are welcome. 
I was expecting you. Philippo 

Strozzi 
Had told me of your coming. 

NARDI. 

'T was his son 
That brought me to your door. 

IPPOLITO. 

Pray you, be seated. 
You seem astonished at the garb I 

wear, 360 

But at my time of life, and with 

my habits, 
The petticoats of a Cardinal would 

be — 
Troublesome ; I could neither ride 

nor walk, 
"Nor do a thousand things, if I 

were dressed 
Like an old dowager. It were put- 
ting wine 
Young as the young Astyanax into 

goblets 
As old as Priam. 

NARDI. 

Oh, your Eminence 
Knows best what you should wear. 

IPPOLITO. 

Dear Messer Nardi, 
You are no stranger to me. I 

have read 
Your excellent translation of the 
books 37° 

Of Titus Livius, the historian 
Of Rome, and model of all histo- 
rians 
That shall come after him. It 
does you honor ; 



But greater honor still the love 

you bear 
To Florence, our dear country, 

and whose annals 
I hope your hand will write, in 

happier days 
Than we now see. 

NARDI. 

Your Eminence will pardon 
The lateness of the hour. 

IPPOLITO. 

The hours I count not 
As a sun-dial ; but am like a clock, 
That tells the time as well by 

night as day. 380 

So, no excuse. I know what 

brings you here. 
You come to speak of Florence. 

NARDI. 

And her woes. 

IPPOLITO. 

The duke, my cousin, the black 

Alessandro, 
Whose mother was a Moorish 

slave, that fed 
The sheep upon Lorenzo's farm, 

still lives 
And reigns. 

NARDI. 

Alas, that such a scourge 
Should fall on such a city ! 

IPPOLITO. 

"When he dies, 
The Wild Boar in the gardens of 

Lorenzo, 
The beast obscene, should be the 

monument 
Of this bad man. 

NARDI. 

He walks the streets at night 
With revellers, insulting honest 

men. 391 

No house is sacred from his lusts. 

The convents 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



715 



Are turned by him to brothels, 


Florence and France ! But I say 


and the honor 


Florence only, 


Of woman and all ancient pious 


Or only with the Emperor's hand 


customs 


to help us 


Are quite forgotten now. The 


In sweeping out the rubbish. 


offices 




Of the Priori and Gonfalonieri 


NARDI. 


Have been abolished. All the ma- 


Little hope 


gistrates 


Of help is there from him. He 


Are now his creatures. Liberty is 


has betrothed 420 


dead. 


His daughter Margaret to this 


The very memory of all honest 


shameless Duke. 


living 


What hope have we from such an 


Is wiped away, and even our Tus- 


Emperor ? 


can tongue 400 




Corrupted to a Lombard dialect. 


IPPOLITO. 




Baccio Valori and Philippo 


IPPOLITO. 


Strozzi, 


And, worst of all, his impious 


Once the Duke's friends and in- 


hand has broken 


timates, are with us, 


The Martinella, — our great battle 


And Cardinals Salvati and Ridolfi. 


bell, 


We shall soon see, then, as Valori 


That, sounding through three cen- 


says, 


turies, has led 


Whether the Duke can best spare 


The Florentines to victory, — lest 


honest men, 


its voice 


Or honest men the Duke. 


Should waken in their soul some 




memory 


NARDI. 


Of far-off times of glory. 


We have determined 




To send ambassadors to Spain, 


NAKDI. 


and lay 


What a change 


Our griefs before the Emperor, 


Ten little years have made ! We 


though I fear 430 


all remember 


More than I hope. 


Those better days, when Niccola 




Capponi, 


IPPOLITO. 


The Gonfaloniere, from the win- 


The Emperor is busy 


dows 410 


With this new war against the 


Of the Old Palace, with the blast 


Algerines, 


of trumpets, 


And has no time to listen to com- 


Proclaimed to the inhabitants that 


plaints 


Christ 


From our ambassadors ; nor will I 


Was chosen King of Florence ; 


trust them, 


and already 


But go myself. All is in readi- 


Christ is dethroned, and slain; 


ness 


and in his stead 


For my departure, and to-morrow 


Reigns Lucifer ! Alas, alas, for 


morning 


Florence ! 


I shall go down to Itri, where I 




meet 


IPPOLITO. 


Dante da Castiglione and some 


Lilies with lilies, said Savonarola ; 


others, 



716 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Republicans and fugitives from 


IPPOLITO. 


Florence, 


Jacopo Nardi. A brave soul ; 


And tben take ship at Gaeta, and 


One of the Fuorusciti, and the 


go 440 


best 


To join tlie Emperor in his new 


And noblest of them all; but h6 


crusade 


has made me 


Against the Turk. I shall have 


Sad with his sadness. As I look 


time enough 


on you 


And opportunity to plead our 


My heart grows lighter. I behold 


cause. 


a man 460 




Who lives in an ideal world, apart 


nardi, rising. 


From all the rude collisions of our 


It is an inspiration, and I hail it 


life, 


As of good omen. May the power 


In a calm atmosphere. 


that sends it 




Bless our beloved country, and re- 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


store 


Your Eminence 


Its banished citizens. The soul of 


Is surely jesting. If you knew 


Florence 


the life 


Is now outside its gates. What 


Of artists as I know it, you might 


lies within 


think 


Is but a corpse, corrupted and 


Far otherwise. 


corrupting. 




Heaven help us all. I will not 


IPPOLITO. 


tarry longer, 450 


But wherefore should I jest? 


For you have need of rest. Good- 


The world of art is an ideal 


night. 


world, — 




The world I love, and that I fain 


IPPOLITO. 


would live in ; 


Good-night ! 


So speak to me of artists and of 

art, 
Of all the painters, sculptors, and 




Scene III.— Cardinal Ippo- 


musicians 470 


LITO ; FRA SEBASTIANO ; 


That now illustrate Rome. 


Turkish attendants. 






FRA SEBASTIANO. 


IPPOLITO. 


Of the musicians, 


Fra Bastiano, how your portly pre- 


I know but Goudimel, the brave 


sence 


maestro 


Contrasts with that of the spare 


And chapel-master of his Holiness, 


Florentine 


Who trains the Papal choir. 


Who has just left me ! 






IPPOLITO. 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


In church, this morning, 


As we passed each other, 


I listened to a mass of Goudimel, 


I saw that he was weeping. 


Divinely chanted. In the Incar- 




natus, 


IPPOLITO. 


In lieu of Latin words, the tenor 


Poor old man ! 


sang 




With infinite tenderness, in plain 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


Italian, 


Who Is he? 


A Neapolitan love-song. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



717 



FRA SEBASTIAKO. 


The honor, nay, the glory, of por- 


You amaze me. 


traying 


Was it a wanton song ? 


Julia Gonzaga ! Do you count as 




nothing 


IPPOLITO. 


A privilege like that ? See there 


Not a divine one. 


the portrait 500 


I am not over-scrupulous, as you 


Rebuking you with its divine ex- 


know, 481 


pression. 


In word or deed, yet such a song 


Are you not penitent ? He whose 


as that, 


skilful hand 


Sung by the tenor of the Papal 


Painted that lovely picture has 


choir, 


not right 


And in a Papal mass, seemed out 


To vilipend the art of portrait- 


of place ; 


painting. 


There 's something wrong in it. 


But what of Michael Angelo ? . 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


There 's something wrong 


But lately 


In everything. We cannot make 


Strolling together down the 


the world 


crowded Corso, 


Go right. 'T is not my business to 


We stopped, well pleased, to see 


reform 


your Eminence 


The Papal choir. 


Pass on an Arab steed, a noble 




creature, 


IPPOLITO. 


Which Michael Angelo, who is a 


Nor mine, thank Heaven ! 


lover 


Then tell me of the artists. 


Of all things beautiful, and espe- 




cially 510 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


When they are Arab horses, much 


Naming one 


admired, 


I name them all ; for there is only 


And could not praise enough. 


one ; 490 




His name is Messer Michael An- 


ippolito, to an attendant. 


gelo. 


Hassan, to-morrow, 


All art and artists of the present 


When I am gone, but not till I am 


day 


gone,— 


Centre in him. 


Be careful about that, —take Bar- 




barossa 


IPPOLITO. 


To Messer Michael Angelo the 


You count yourself as nothing? 


sculptor, 




Who lives there at Macello dei 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


Corvi, 


Or less than nothing, since I am 


Near to the Capitol ; and take be- 


at best 


sides 


Only a portrait-painter; one who 


Some ten mule-loads of provender, 


draws 


and say 


With greater or less skill, as best 


Your master sends them to him as 


he may, 


a present. 


The features of a face. 






FRA SEBASTIANO. 


IPPOLITO. 


A princely gift. Though Michaei 


And you have had 


Angelo 520 



7 i8 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



llefuses presents from his Holi- 
ness, 
Yours he will not refuse. 

ippolito. 

You think him like 
Thymoetes, who received the 

wooden horse 
Into the walls of Troy. That 

book of Virgil 
Have I translated in Italian verse 
And shall, some day, when we 

have leisure for it, 
Be pleased to read you. When I 

. speak of Troy 
I am reminded of another town 
And of a lovelier Helen, our dear 

Countess 
Julia Gonzaga. You remember, 

surely, 530 

The adventure with the corsair 

Barbarossa, 
And all that followed ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

A most strange adventure ; 
A tale as marvellous and full of 

wonder 
As any in Boccaccio or Sacchetti ; 
Almost incredible ! 

IPPOLITO. 

Were I a painter 

I should not want a better theme 
than that : 

The lovely lady fleeing through 
the night 

In wild disorder; and the brig- 
ands' camp 

With the red fire-light on their 
swarthy faces. 539 

Could you not paint it for me ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

No, not I. 
It is not in my line. 

IPPOLITO. 

Then you shall paint 
The portrait of the corsair, when 
we bring him 



A prisoner chained to Naples ; for 

I feel 
Something like admiration for a 

man 
Who dared this strange adventure. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I will do it. 
But catch the corsair first. 

IPPOLITO. 

You may begin 

To-morrow with the sword. Has- 
san, come hither ; 

Bring me the Turkish scimitar 
that hangs 

Beneath the picture yonder. Now 
unsheathe it. 

'T is a Damascus blade ; you see 
the inscription 550 

In Arabic: La Allah! ilia Al- 
lah ! — 

There is no God but God. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

How beautiful 
In fashion and in finish ! It is per- 
fect. 
The Arsenal of Venice cannot 

boast 
A finer sword. 

IPPOLITO. 

You like it ? It is yours. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

You do not mean it. 

IPPOLITO. 

I am not a Spaniard, 
To say that it is yours and not to 

mean it. 
I have at Itri a whole armory 
Full of such weapons. When you 

paint the portrait 
Of Barbarossa, it will be of use. 
You have not been rewarded as 

you should be 561 

For painting the Gonzaga. Throw 

this bauble 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



719 



Into the scale, and make the bal- 


First you shall sup with me. My 


ance equal. 


seneschal, 


Till then suspend it in your studio ; 


Giovan Andrea dal Borgo a San 


You artists like such trifles. 


Sepolcro, — 




I like to give the whole sonorous 


FEA SEBASTIANO. 


name, 


I will keep it 


It sounds so like a verse of the 


In memory of the donor. Many 


JEneid,— 


. thanks. 


Has brought me eels fresh from 




the Lake of Fondi, 590 


IPPOLITO. 


And Lucrine oysters cradled in 


Fra Bastian, I am growing tired of 


their shells ; 


Rome, 


These, with red Fondi wine, the 


The old dead city, with the old 


Csecuban 


dead people ; 


That Horace speaks of, under a 


Priests everywhere, like shadows 


hundred keys 


on a wall, 


Kept safe, until the heir of Post- 


And morning, noon, and night the 


humus 


ceaseless sound 570 


Shall stain the pavement with it, 


Of convent bells. I must be gone 


make a feast 


from here ; 


Fit for Lucullus, or Fra Bastian 


Though Ovid somewhere says that 


even ; 


Rome is worthy 


So we will go to supper, and be 


To be the dwelling-place of all the 


merry. 


Gods, 




I must be gone from here. To- 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 


morrow morning 


Beware! Remember that Bolse- 


I start for Itri, and go thence by 


na's eels 


sea 


And Vernage wine once killed a 


To join the Emperor, who is mak- 


Pope of Rome ! 


ing war 




Upon the Algerines; perhaps to 


IPPOLITO. 


sink 


'T was a French Pope ; and then 


Some Turkish galleys, and bring 


so long ago ; 600 


back in chains 


Who knows? — perhaps the story 


The famous corsair. Thus would 


is not true. 


I avenge 




The beautiful Gonzaga. 


IV 


FRA SEBASTIANO. 






BORGO DELLE VERGINE AT 


An achievement 


NAPLES 


Worthy of Charlemagne, or of Or- 




lando. 581 


Room in the Palace of Julia 


Berni and Ariosto both shall add 


Gonzaga. Night. Julia Gon- 


A canto to their poems, and de- 


zaga, Giovanni Valdesso. 


scribe you 




As Furioso and Innamorato. 


JULIA. 


Now I must say good-night. 


Do not go yet. 


IPPOLITO. 


VALDESSO. 


You must not go ; 


The night is far advanced; 



720 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



I fear to stay too late, and weary 


But only to the better understand- 


you 


ing 


With these discussions. 


Of what comes after. 


JULIA. 


VALDESSO. 


I have much to say. 


God hath given you also 


I speak to you, Valdesso, with that 


Beauty and intellect ; and the sig- 


frankness 


nal grace 


Which is the greatest privilege of 


To lead a spotless life amid temp- 


friendship,— 


tations 


Speak as I hardly would to my 


That others yield to. 


confessor, 




Such is my confidence in you. 


JULIA. 




But the inward life,— 


VALDESSO. 


That you know not; 'tis known 


Dear Countess, 


but to myself, 630 


If loyalty to friendship he a claim 


And is to me a mystery and a 


Upon your confidence, then I may 


pain : 


claim it. 610 


A soul disquieted and ill. at ease, 




A mind perplexed with doubts and 


JULIA. 


apprehensions, 


Then sit again, and listen unto 


A heart dissatisfied with all around 


things 


me, 


That nearer are to me than life it- 


And with myself, so that some- 


self. 


times I weep, 




Discouraged and disgusted with 


VALDESSO. 


the world. 


In all things I am happy to ohey 




you, 


VALDESSO. 


And happiest then when you com- 


Whene'er we cross a river at a 


mand me most. 


ford, 




If we would pass in safety, we 


JULIA. 


must keep 


Laying aside all useless rhetoric, 


Our eyes fixed steadfast on the 


That is superfluous between us 


shore beyond, 


two, 


For if we cast them on the flowing 


I come at once unto the point, and 


stream, 640 


say, 


The head swims with it ; so if we 


You know my outward life, my 


would cross 


rank and fortune ; 


The running flood of things here 


Countess of Fondi, Duchess of Tra- 


in the world, 


jetto, 


Our souls must not look down, but 


A. widow rich and flattered, for 


fix their sight 


whose hand 620 


On the firm land beyond. 


In marriage princes ask, and ask 




it only 


JULIA. 


To he rejected. All the world can 


I comprehend you. 


offer 


You think I am too worldly ; that 


Lies at my feet. If I remind you 


my head 


of it 


Swims with the giddying whirl of 


It is not in the way of idle boast- 


life about me. 


ing, 


Is that your meaning? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



721 



VALDESSO. 


Of ceremony, or to be with friends. 


Yes ; your meditations 


For I confess, to live among my 


Are more of this world and its 


friends 67 1 


vanities 


Is Paradise to me ; my Purgatory 


Than of the world to come. 


Is living among people I dislike. 




And so I pass my life in these two 


JULIA. 


worlds, 


Between the two 


This palace and the convent 


I am confused. 






VALDESSO. 


VALDESSO. 


It was then 


Yet have I seen you listen 


The fear of man, and not the love 


Enraptured when Fra Bernardino 


of God, 


preached 65 1 


That led you to this step. Why 


Of faith and hope and charity. 


will you not 




Renounce the world, and give your 


JULIA. 


heart to God, 1 


I listen, 




But only as to music without mean- 


JULIA. 


ing. 


If God so commands it, 


It moves me for the moment, and 


Wherefore hath He not made me 


I think 


capable 680 


How beautiful it is to be a saint, 


Of doing for Him what I wish to 


As dear Vittoria is ; but I am weak 


do 


And wayward, and I soon fall back 


As easily as I could offer Him 


again 


This jewel from my hand, this 


To my old ways, so very easily. 


gown I wear, 


There are too many week-days for 


Or aught else that is mine ? 


one Sunday. 






VALDESSO. 


VALDESSO. 


The hindrance lies 


Then take the Sunday with you 


In that original sin, by which all 


through the week, 660 


fell. 


And sweeten with it all the other 




days. 


JULIA. 




Ah me, I cannot bring my troubled 


JULIA. 


mind 


In part I do so ; for to put a stop 


To wish well to that Adam, our 


To idle tongues, what men might 


first parent, 


say of me 


Who by his sin lost Paradise for 


If I lived all alone here in my pal- 


us, 


ace, 


And brought such ills upon us. 


And not from a vocation that I feel 




For the monastic life, I now am 


VALDESSO. 


living 


We ourselves, 


With Sister Caterina at the con- 


When we commit a sin, lose Para- 


vent 


dise, 690 


Of Santa Chiara, and I come here 
only 


* For some unexplained reason, the 


sentence has been left incomplete ; ap- 


On certain days, for my affairs, or 


parently the omission was not more 


visits 


than a half line. 



722 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



As much as he did. Let us think 

of this, 
And how we may regain it. 

JULIA. 

Teach me, then, 
To harmonize the discord of my 

life, 
And stop the painful jangle of 

these wires. 

valdesso. 
That is a task impossible, until 
You tune your heart-strings to a 

higher key 
Than earthly melodies. 

JULIA. 

How shall I do it? 
Point out to me the way of this 

perfection, 
And I will follow you; for you 

have made 
My soul enamored with it, and I 

cannot 700 

Best satisfied until I find it out. 
But lead me privately, so that the 

world 
Hear not my steps ; I would not 

give occasion 
For talk among the people. 

valdesso. 

Now at last 
I understand you fully. Then, 

what need 
Is there for us to beat about the 

bush? 
I know what you desire of me. 

JULIA. 

What rudeness ! 
If you already know it, why not 
tell me ? 

VALDESSO. 

Because I rather wait for you to 

ask it 
With your own lips. • 

JULIA. 

Do me the kindness, then, 



To speak without reserve; and 
with all frankness, 711 

If you divine the truth, will I con- 
fess it. 

VALDESSO- 

I am content. 

JULIA. 

Then speak. 

VALDESSO. 

You would be free 
From the vexatious thoughts that 

come and go 
Through your imagination, and 

would have me 
Point out some royal road and 

lady-like 
Which you may walk in, and not 

wound your feet. 
You would attain to the divine per- 
fection, 
And yet not turn your back upon 

the world ; 
You would possess humility within, 
But not reveal it in your outward 

actions; 721 

You would have patience, but 

without the rude 
Occasions that require its exer- 
cise; 
You would despise the world, but 

in such fashion 
The world should not despise you 

in return ; 
Would clothe the soul with all the 

Christian graces, 
Yet not despoil the body of its 

gauds ; 
Would feed the soul with spiritual 

food, 
Yet not deprive the body of its 

feasts ; 
Would seem angelic in the sight of 

God, 730 

Yet not too saint-like in the eyes 

of men ; 
In short, would lead a holy Chris- 
tian life 
In such a way that even your 

nearest friend 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



723 



Would not detect therein one cir- 


And friends by your imprudence. 


cumstance 


Pray, be patient. 


To show a change from what it 


You have occasion now to show 


was before. 


that virtue 


Have I divined your secret? 


Which you lay stress upon. Let 




us return 


JULIA. 


To our lost pathway. Show me by 


You have drawn 


what steps 


The portrait of my inner self as 


I shall walk in it. 


truly 


[Convent bells are heard. 


As the most skilful painter ever 




painted 


VALDESSO. 


A human face. 


Hark ! the convent bells 




Are ringing; it is midnight; I 


VALDESSO. 


must leave you. 


This warrants me in saying 


And yet I linger. Pardon me, dear 


You think you can win heaven by 


Countess, 


compromise, 740 


Since you to-night have made me 


And not by verdict. 


your confessor, 760 




If I so far may venture, I will 


JULIA. 


warn you 


You have often told me 


Upon one point. 


That a bad compromise was better 




even 


JULIA. 


Than a good verdict. 


What is it? Speak, I pray you, 




For I have no concealments in my 


VALDESSO. 


conduct ; 


Yes, in suits at law ; 


All is as open as the light of day. 


Not in religion. With the human 


What is it you would warn me 


soul 


of? 


There is no compromise. By faith 




alone 


VALDESSO. 


Can man be justified; 


Your friendship 




With Cardinal Ippolito. 


JULIA. 




Hush, dear Valdesso ; 


JULIA. 


That is a heresy. Do not, I pray 


What is there 


you, 


To cause suspicion or alarm in 


Proclaim it from the house-top, but 


that, 


preserve it 


More than in friendships that I 


As something precious, hidden in 


entertain 


your heart, 


With you and others ? I ne'er sat 


As I, who half believe and tremble 


with him 


at it. 750 


Alone at night, as I am sitting 




now 7„*o 


VALDESSO. 


With you, Valdesso. 


I must proclaim the truth. 






VALDESSO. 


JULIA. 


Pardon me ; the portrait 


Enthusiast ! 


That Fra Bastiano painted way 


Why must you ? You imperil both 


for him. 


yourself 


Is that quite prudent ? 



724 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



JULIA. 


His plume of smoke. How beauti- 


That is the same question 


ful it is ! 


Vittoria put to me, when I last 


[ Voices in the street. 


saw her. 




I make you the same answer. 


GIOVAN ANDREA. 


That was not 


Poisoned at Itri. 


A pledge of love, but of pure grati- 




tude. 


ANOTHER VOICE. 


Recall the adventure of that dread- 
ful night 
When Barbarossa with two thou- 


Poisoned ? Who is poisoned ? 


GIOVAN ANDREA. 


sand Moors 


The Cardinal Ippolito, my master. 


Landed upon the coast, and in the 


Call it malaria. It was very sud- 


darkness 


den. [Julia swoons. 


Attacked my castle. Then, with- 




out delay, 780 




The Cardinal came hurrying down 


V 


from Rome 




To rescue and protect me. Was 


VITTORIA COLONNA 


it wrong 




That in an hour like that I did not 


A room in the Torre Argentina. 


weigh 




Too nicely this or that, but granted 


Vittoria Colonna and Julia 


him 


Gonzaga. 


A boon that pleased him, and that 




flattered me ? 


VITTORIA. 




Come to my arms and to my heart 


VALDESSO. 


once more; 800 


Only beware lest, in disguise of 


My soul goes out to meet you and 


friendship, 


embrace you, 


Another corsair, worse than Bar- 


For we are of the sisterhood of 


barossa, 


sorrow. 


Steal in and seize the castle, not 


I know what you have suffered. 


by storm 




But strategy. And now I take my 


JULIA. 


leave. 


Name it not 




Let me forget it. 


JULIA. 




Farewell; but ere you go, look 


VITTORIA. 


forth and see 790 


I will say no more. 


How night hath hushed the clamor 


Let me look at you. What a joy it 


and the stir 


is 


Of the tumultuous streets. The 


To see your face, to hear your 


cloudless moon 


voice again ! 


Roofs the whole city as with tiles 


You bring with you a breath as of 


of silver ; 


the morn, 


The dim, mysterious sea in silence 


A memory of the far-off happy 


sleeps, 


days 


And straight into the air Vesuvius 


When we were young. When did 


lifts 


you come from Fondi ? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



725 



JULIA. 


VITTORIA. 


I have not been at Fondi since — 


Then chide me now, 




For I confess to something still 


VITTORIA. 


more strange. 


Ah me! 


Old as I am, I have at last con- 


You need not speak the word ; I 


sented 


understand you. 811 


To the entreaties and the suppli- 




cations 


JULIA. 


Of Michael Angelo — 


I came from Naples hy the lovely 




valley, 


JULIA. 


The Terra di Lavoro. 


To marry him ? 


VITTORIA. 


VITTORIA. 


And you find me 


I pray you, do not jest with me ! 


But just returned from a long 


You know, 831 


journey northward. 


Or you should know, that never 


I have been staying with that 


such a thought 


noble woman, 


Entered my breast. I am already 


Renee of France, the Duchess of 


married. 


Ferrara. 


The Marquis of Pescara is my hus- 




band, 


JULIA. 


And death has not divorced us. 


Oh, tell me of the Duchess. I have 




heard 


JULIA. 


Flaminio speak her praises with 


Pardon me. 


such warmth 


Have I offended you ? 


That I am eager to hear more of 




her 


VITTORIA. 


And of her brilliant court. 


No, but have hurt me. 




Unto my buried lord I give my- 


VITTORIA. 


self, 


You shall hear all. 


Unto my friend the shadow of my- 


But first sit down and listen pa- 


self, 


tiently 821 


My portrait. It is not from van- 


While I confess myself. 


ity, 




But for the love I bear him. 


JULIA. 




What deadly sin 


JULIA. 


Have you committed? 


I rejoice 


4 


To hear these words. Oh, this will 


VITTORIA. 


be a portrait 841 


Not a sin ; -a folly. 


Worthy of both of you ! 


I chid you once at Ischia, when 


\_A knock 


you told me 




That brave Fra Bastian was to 


VITTORIA. 


paint your portrait. 


Hark ! he is coming. 


JULIA. 


JULIA. 


Well I remember it. 


And shall I go or stay ? 



726 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



VITTORIA. 

By all means, stay. 
The drawing will be better for 

your presence ; 
You will enliven me. 

JULIA. 

I shall not speak ; 
The presence of great men doth 

take from me 
All power of speech. I only gaze 

at them 
In silent wonder, as if they were 

gods, 
Or the inhabitants of some other 

planet. 
Enter Michael Angelo. 



VITTORIA. 



Come in. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I fear my visit is ill-timed ; 
I interrupt you. 

VITTORIA. 

No ; this is a friend 
Of yours as well as mine, — the 
Lady Julia, 852 

The Duchess of Trajetto. 

MICHAEL ANGELO to JULIA. 

I salute you. 
'Tis long since I have seen your 

, face, my lady ; 
Pardon me if I say that having 

seen it, 
One never can forget it. 

JULIA. 

You are kind 
£0 keep me in your memory. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is 
■The privilege of age to speak with 

frankness. 
You will not be offended when I 

say 
Jhat never was your beauty more 

divine. 860 



JULIA. 

When Michael Angelo conde- 
scends to flatter 

Or praise me, I am proud, and not 
offended. 

VITTORIA. 

Now this is gallantry enough for 

one; 
Show me a little. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, my gracious lady, 

You know I have not words to 
speak your praise. 

I think of you in silence. You con- 
ceal 

Your manifold perfections from all 
eyes, 

And make yourself more saint-like 
day by day, 

And day by day men worship you 
the more. 

But now your hour of martyrdom 
has come. 870 

You know why I am here. 

VITTORIA. 

Ah yes, I know it ; 
And meet my faith with fortitude. 

You find me 
Surrounded by the labors of youi> 

hands : 
The Woman of Samaria at the 

Well, 
The Mater Dolorosa, and the 

Christ 
Upon the Cross, beneath which 

you have written 
Those memorable words of Ali- 

ghieri, 
' Men have forgotten how much 

blood it costs.' 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And now I come to add one labor 

more, 
If you call that labor which is 

pleasure, 880 

And only pleasure. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



727 



VITTORIA. 

How shall I be seated ? 

Michael angelo, opening his 

portfolio. 
Just as you are. The light falls 
well upon you. 

VITTORIA. 

I am ashamed to steal the time 
from you 

That should be given to the Sis- 
tine Chapel. 

How does that work go on ? 

Michael angelo, drawing. 
But tardily. 

Old men work slowly. Brain and 
band alike 

Are dull and torpid. To die young 
is best, 

And not to be remembered as old 
men 

Tottering about in their decrepi- 
tude. 

VITTORIA. 

My dear Maestro ! have you, then, 
forgotten 890 

The story of Sophocles in his old 
age? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

"What story is it? 

VITTORIA. 

When his sons accused him, 
Before the Areopagus, of dotage, 
For all defence, he reads there to 

bis Judges 
The Tragedy of CEdipus Colo- 

neus, — 
The work of his old age. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

'T is an illusion, 
A fabulous story, that will lead 

old men 
Into a thousand follies and con- 
ceits. 



VITTORIA. 

So you may show to cavillers your 
painting 

Of the Last Judgment in the Sis- 
tine Chapel. 900 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Now you and Lady Julia shall re- 
sume 

The conversation that I inter- 
rupted. 

VITTORIA. 

It was of no great import : nothing 
more 

Nor less than my late visit to 
Ferrara, 

And what I saw there in the du- 
cal palace. 

Will it not interrupt you ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Not the least. 

VITTORIA. 

Well, first, then, of Duke Ercole : 
a man 

Cold in his manners, and reserved 
and silent, 

And yet magnificent in all his 
ways; 

Not hospitable unto new ideas, 

But from state policy, and certain 
reasons 911 

Concerning the investiture of the 
duchy, 

A partisan of Rome, and conse- 
quently 

Intolerant of all the new opin- 
ions. 

JULIA. 

I should not like the Duke. These 

silent men, 
Who only look and listen, are like 

wells 
That have no water in them, deep 

and empty. 
How could the daughter of a king 

of France 
Wed such a duke ? 



728 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The men that women marry, 
And why they marry them, will 

always he 920 

A marvel and a mystery to the 

world. 

VITTORIA. 

And then the Duchess, — how shall 

I describe her, 
Or tell the merits of that happy 

nature 
Which pleases most when least it 

thinks of pleasing? 
Not beautiful, perhaps, in form 

and feature, 
Yet with an inward beauty, that 

shines through 
Each look and attitude and word 

and gesture ; 
A kindly grace of maimer and be- 
havior, 
A something in her presence and 

her ways 
That makes her beautiful beyond 

the reach 930 

Of mere external beauty; and in 

heart 
So noble and devoted to the truth, 
And so in sympathy with all who 

strive 
After the higher life. 

JULIA. 

She draws me to her 
As much as her Duke Ercole re- 
pels me. 

VITTORIA. 

Then the devout and honorable 
women 

That grace her court, and make it 
good to be there ; 

Francesca Bucyronia, the true- 
hearted, 

Lavinia della Eovere and the 
Orsini, 

The Magdalena and the Cherubina, 

And Anne de Parthenai, who sings 
so sweetly ; 941 



All lovely women, full of noble 

thoughts 
And aspirations after noble things. 

JULIA. 

Boccaccio would have envied you 
such dames. 

VITTORIA. 

No ; his Fiammettas and his Phi- 
lomenas 

Are fitter company for Ser Gio- 
vanni ; 

I fear he hardly would have com- 
prehended 

The women that I speak of. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yet he wrote 
The story of Griseldis. That is 

something 
To set down in his favor. 

VITTORIA. 

With these ladies 

Was a young girl, Olympia Mo- 
rata, 95 1 

Daughter of Fulvio, the learned 
scholar, 

Famous in all the universities : 

A marvellous child, who at the 
spinning-wheel, 

And in the daily round of house- 
hold cares, 

Hath learned both Greek and 
Latin ; and is now 

A favorite of the Duchess and com- 
panion 

Of Princess Anne. This beautiful 
young Sappho 

Sometimes recited to us Grecian 
odes 

That she had written, with a voice 
whose sadness 960 

Thrilled and o'ermastered me, and 
made me look 

Into the future time, and ask my 
self 

What destiny will be hera. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



729 



JULIA. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


A sad one, surely. 


Of me? 


Frost kills the flowers that blossom 




out of season ; 


VITTORIA. 


And these precocious intellects 


Have you forgotten that he calls 


portend 


you 


A life of sorrow or an early death. 


Michael, less man than angel, and 




divine ? 


VITTORIA. 


You are ungrateful. 


About the court were many learned 




men; 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Chilian Sinapius from beyond the 


A mere play on words. 


Alps, 


That adjective he wanted for a 


And Celio Curione, and Manzolli, 


rhyme, 


The Duke's physician ; and a pale 


To match with Gian Bellino and 


young man, 970 


Urbino. 


Charles d'Espeville of Geneva, 




whom the Duchess 


VITTORIA. 


Doth much delight to talk with 


Bernardo Tasso is no longer there, 


and to read. 


Nor the gay troubadour of Gas- 


For he hath written a book of In- 


cony, 991 


stitutes 


Clement Marot, surnamed by flat- 


The Duchess greatly praises, 


terers 


though some call it 


The Prince of Poets and the Poet 


The Koran of the heretics. 


of Princes, 




Who, being looked upon with 


JULIA. 


much disfavor 


And what poets 


By the Duke Ercole, has fled to 


Were there to sing you madrigals, 


Venice. 


and praise 




Olympia's eyes and Cherubina's 


MICHAEL ANGELO, 


tresses? 


There let him stay with Pietro 




Aretino, 


VITTORIA. 


The Scourge of Princes, also called 


None ; for great Ariosto is no 


Divine. 


more. 


The title is so common in our 


The voice that filled those halls 


mouths, 


with melody 979 


That even the Pifferari of Abruzzi, 


Has long been hushed in death. 


Who play their bagpipes in the 




streets of Rome 1000 


JULIA. 


At the Epiphany, will bear it soon, 


You should have made 


And will deserve it better than 


A pilgrimage unto the poet's tomb, 


some poets. 


And laid a wreath upon it, for the 




words 


VITTORIA. 


He spake of you. 


What bee hath stung you ? 


VITTORIA. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


And of yourself no less, 


One that makes no honey; 


ind of our master, Michael An- 


One that comes buzzing in through 


gelo. 


every window, 



730 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And stabs men with his sting. A 


And says that she will keep it: 


bitter thought 


with one hand 


Passed through my mind, but it 


Inflicts a wound, and with the 


is gone again ; 


other heals it. 


I spake too hastily. 


[.Reading. 




'Profoundly I believed that God 


JULIA. 


would grant you 


I pray you, show me 


A supernatural faith to paint this 


What you have done. 


Christ ; 




I wished for that which now I see 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


fulfilled 


Not yet ; it is not finished. 


So marvellously, exceeding all my 




wishes. 




Nor more could be desired, or 




even so much. 20 


PART SECOND 


And greatly I rejoice that you 




have made 


I 


The angel on the right so beauti- 


MONOLOGUE 


ful; 




For the Archangel Michael will 


A room in Michael Angelo's 


place you, 


house. 


You, Michael Angelo, on that new 

day, 
Upon the Lord's right hand ! And 


- MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Fled to Viterbo, the old Papal 


waiting that, 


city 


How can I better serve you than 


Where once an Emperor, humbled 


to pray 


in his pride, 


To this sweet Christ for you, and 


Held the Pope's stirrup, as his Ho- 


to beseech you 


liness 


To hold me altogether yours in all 


Alighted from his mule ! A fugi- 


things.' 


tive 




From Cardinal Caraffa's hate, who 


Well, I will write less often, or no 


hurls 


more, 


His thunders at the house of the 


But wait her coming. No one 


Colonna, 


born in Rome 30 


With endless bitterness ! — Among 


Can live elsewhere; but he must 


the nuns 


pine for Rome, 


In Santa Caterina's convent hid- 


And must return to it. I, who am 


den, 


born 


Herself in soul a nun ! And now 


And bred a Tuscan and a Floren- 


she chides me 


tine, 


For my too frequent letters, that 


Feel the attraction, and I linger 


disturb 10 


here 


Her meditations, and that hinder 


As if I were a pebble in the pave- 


me 


ment 


And keep me from my work ; now 


Trodden by priestly feet. This IK 


graciously 


endure, 


She thanks me for the crucifix I 


Because I breathe in Rome an a* 


sent her, 


mosphere 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



731 



Heavy with odors of the laurel 
leaves 

That crowned great heroes of the 
sword and pen, 

In ages past. I feel myself ex- 
alted 40 

To walk the streets in which a 
Virgil walked, 

Or Trajan rode in triumph; hut 
far more, 

And most of all, because the great 
Colonna 

Breathes the same air I breathe, 
and is to me 

An inspiration. Now tbat she is 
gone, 

Rome is no longer Rome till she 
return. 

This feeling overmasters me. I 
know not 

If it be love, this strong desire to 
be 

Forever in her presence ; but I 
know 

That I, who was the friend of soli- 
tude, 50 

And ever was best pleased when 
most alone, 

Now weary grow of my own com- 
pany. 

For the first time old age seems 
lonely to me. 
[.Opening the Divina Commedla. 

I turn for consolation to the 

leaves 
Of the great master of our Tuscan 

tongue, 
Whose words, like colored garnet- 

shirls in lava, 
Betray the heat in which they 

were engendered. 
A mendicant, he ate the bitter 

bread 
Of others, but repaid their meagre 

gifts 
With immortality. In courts of 

princes 60 

He was a by-word, and in streets 

of towns 



Was mocked by children, like the 
Hebrew prophet, 

Himself a prophet. I too know 
the cry, 

Go up, thou bald head! from a 
generation 

That, wanting reverence, wanteth 
the best food 

The soul can feed on. There 'ft 
not room enough 

For age and youth upon this little*, 
planet. 

Age must give way. There was 
not room enough 

Even for this great poet. In his 
song 

I hear reverberate the gates of 
Florence, 70 

Closing upon him, nevermore to 
open ; 

But mingled with the sound are 
melodies 

Celestial from the gates of para- 
dise. 

He came and he is gone. The peo- 
ple knew not 

What manner of man was passing 
by their doors, 

Until he passed no more; but in 
his vision 

He saw the torments and beati- 
tudes 

Of souls condemned or pardoned, 
and hath left 

Behind him this sublime Apoca- 
lypse. 



I strive in vain to draw here on 
the margin 80 

The face of Beatrice. It is not 
hers, 

But the Colonna's. Each hath his 
ideal, 

The image of some woman excel- 
lent, 

That is his guide. No Grecian art, 
nor Roman, 

Hath yet revealed such loveliness 
as hers. 



732 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



II 



VITERBO 

Vittoria Colokna, at the con- 
vent window. 

VITTORIA. 

Farting with friends is temporary 
death, 

A:s all death is. We see no more 
their faces, 

Nor hear their voices, save in 
memory. 

But messages of love give us as- 
surance 

That we are not forgotten. Who 
shall say 90 

That from the world of spirits 
comes no greeting, 

No message of remembrance ? It 
may be 

The thoughts that visit us, we 
know not whence, 

Sudden as inspiration, are the 
whispers 

Of disembodied spirits, speaking 
to us 

As friends, who wait outside a 
prison wall, 

Through the barred windows 
speak to those within. 

\_A pause. 

As quiet as the lake that lies be- 
neath me, 

As quiet as the tranquil sky above 
me, 

As quiet as a heart that beats no 
more, 100 

This convent seems. Above, be- 
low, all peace ! 

Silence and solitude, the soul's 
best friends, 

Are with me here, and the tumul- 
tuous world 

Makes no more noise than the re- 
motest planet. \_A pause. 

gentle spirit, unto the third 
circle 

Of heaven among the blessed souls 
ascended, 



Who, living in the faith and dying 

for it, 
Have gone to their reward, I do 

not sigh 
For thee as being dead, but for 

myself 
That I am still alive. Turn those 

dear eyes, no 

Once so benignant to me, upon 

mine, 
That open to their tears such un- 
controlled 
And such continual issue. Still 

awhile 
Have patience ; I will come to 

thee at last. 
A few more goings in and out these 

doors, 
A few more chimings of these 

convent bells, 
A few more prayers, a few more 

sighs and tears, 
And the long agony of this life will 

end, 
And I shall be with thee. If I am 

wanting 
To thy well-being, as thou art to 

mine, 120 

Have patience ; I will come to 

thee at last. 
Ye winds that loiter in these clois- 
ter gardens, 
Or wander far above the city walls, 
Bear unto him this message, that 

lever 
Or speak or think of him, or weep 

for him. 

By unseen hands uplifted in the 

light 
Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud 
Floats, with its white apparel 

blown abroad, 
And wafted up to heaven. It fades 

away, 
And melts into the air. Ah, would 

that I 130 

Could thus be wafted unto thee, 

Francesco, 
A cloud of white, an incorporeal 

spirit ! 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



733 



III 

MICHAEL ANGELO AND BENVE- 
NUTO CELLINI 

Scene I. — Michael Angelo, 
Benvenuto Cellini in gay 
attire. 

BENVENUTO. 

A good day and good year to the 

divine 
Maestro Michael Angelo, the 

sculptor ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Welcome, my Benvenuto. 

BENVENUTO. 

That is what 
My father said, the first time he 

beheld 
This handsome face. But say 

farewell, not welcome. 
I come to take my leave. I start 

for Florence 
As fast as horse can carry me. I 

long 
To set once more upon its level 

flags 140 

These feet, made sore by your vile 

Roman pavements. 
Come with me ; you are wanted 

there in Florence. 
The Sacristy is not finished. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Speak not of it 1 
How damp and cold it was ! How 

my bones ached 
And my head reeled, when I was 

working there ! 
I am too old. I will stay here in 

Rome, 
Where all is old and crumbling, 

like myself, 
To hopeless ruin. All roads lead 

to Rome. 

BENVENUTO. 

AJid all lead out of it. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

There is a charm, 
A certain something in the atmo- 
sphere, 150 
That all men feel, and no man 
can describe. 

BENVENUTO. 

Malaria ? 

4 MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yes, malaria of the mind, 
Out of this tomb of the majestic 

Past; 
The fever to accomplish some 

great work 
That will not let us sleep. I must 

go on 
Until I die. 

BE7TVENUTO. 

Do you ne'er think of Florence ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Yes ; whenever 

I think of anything beside my 
work, 

I think of Florence. I remember, 
too, 

The bitter days I passed among 
the quarries iC<« 

Of Seravezza and Pietrasanta ; 

Road-building in the marshes ; stu'- 
pid people, 

And cold and rain incessant, and 
mad gusts 

Of mountain wind, like howling 
Dervishes, 

That spun and whirled the eddy- 
ing snow about them 

As if it were a garment ; aye, vex- 
ations 

And troubles of all kinds, that 
ended only 

In loss of time and money. 

BENVENUTO. 

True, Maestro ; 
But that was not in Florence. 
You should leave 



*34 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Such work to others. Sweeter 
memories 170 

Cluster about you, in the pleasant 
city 

Upon the Arno. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

In my waking dreams 
I see the marvellous dome of 

Brunelleschi, 
Ghiberti's gates of bronze, and 

Giotto's tower ; 
And Ghirlandajo's lovely Benci 

glides 
With folded bands amid my trou- 
bled thoughts, 
A splendid vision! Time rides 

with tbe old 
At a great pace. As travellers on 

swift steeds 
See the near landscape fly and 

flow behind them, 
Wbile the remoter fields and dim 

horizons 180 

Go with them, and seem wheeling 

round to meet them, 
So in old age things near us slip 

away, 
And distant things go with us. 

Pleasantly 
Come back to me the days when, 

as a youth, 
I walked with Ghirlandajo in the 

gardens 
Of Medici, and saw the antique 

statues, 
The forms august of gods and god- 
like men, 
And the great world of art re- 
vealed itself 
To my young eyes. Then all that 

man hath done 
Seemed possible to me. Alas! 

how little 190 

Of all I dreamed of has my hand 

achieved ! 

BBNVENUTO. 

Nay, let the Night and Morning, 
let Lorenzo 



And Julian in the Sacristy at Flor- 
ence, 

Prophets and Sibyls in the Sistine 
Chapel, 

And the Last Judgment answer. 
Is it finished ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The work is nearly done. But 
this Last Judgment 

Has been the cause of more vexa- 
tion to me 

Than it will be of honor. Ser 
Biagio, 

Master of ceremonies at the 
Papal court, 

A man punctilious and over 
nice, 200 

Calls it improper ; says that those 
nude forms, 

Showing their nakedness in such 
shameless fashion, 

Are better suited to a common 
bagnio, 

Or wayside wine-shop, than a Pa- 
pal Chapel. 

To punish him I painted him as 
Minos 

And leave him there as master of 
ceremonies 

In the Infernal Eegions. What 
would you 

Have done to such a man? 

BENVENUTO. 

I would have killed him. 
When any one insults me, if I 

can 
I kill him, kill him. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Oh, you gentlemen, 
Who dress in silks and velvets, 

and wear swords, 211 

Are ready with your weapons, and 

have all 
A taste for homicide. 

BENVENUTO. 

I learned that lesson 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



735 



Under Pope Clement at the siege 


A Spanish cavalier in scarlet 


of Home, 


cloak ; 


Some twenty years ago. As I was 


And firing at him with due aim 


standing 


and range, 


Upon the ramparts of the Campo 


I cut the gay Hidalgo in two 


Santo 


pieces. 240 


With Alessandro Bene, I beheld 


The eyes are dry that wept for 


A sea of fog, that covered all the 


him in Spain. 


plain, 


His Holiness, delighted beyond 


And hid from us the foe ; when 


measure 


suddenly, 


With such display of gunnery, and 


A misty figure, likfe an appari- 


amazed 


tion, 220 


To see the man in scarlet cut in 


Rose up above the fog, as if on 


two, 


horseback. 


Gave me his benediction, and ab- 


At this I aimed my arquebus, and 


solved me 


fired. 


From all the homicides I had com- 


The figure vanished; and there 


mitted 


rose a cry 


In service of the Apostolic Church, 


Out of the darkness, long and 


Or should commit thereafter. 


fierce and loud, 


From that day 


With imprecations in all lan- 


I have not held in very high es- 


guages. 


teem 249 


It was the Constable of France, the 


The life of man. 


Bourbon, 




That I had slain. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




And who absolved Pope Clement ? 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Now let us speak of Art. 


Eome should be grateful to you. 


BENVENUTO. 




Of what you will. 


BENVENUTO. 




But has not been ; you shall hear 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


presently. 


Say, have you seen our friend Fra 


During the siege I served as bom- 


Bastian lately, 


bardier, 


Since by a turn of fortune he be- 


There in St. Angelo. His Holi- 


came 


ness 230 


Friar of the Signet ? 


One day was walking with his 




Cardinals 


BENVENUTO. 


On the round bastion, while I stood 


Faith, a pretty artist 


above 


To pass his days in stamping 


Among my falconets. All thought 


leaden seals 


and feeling, 


On Papal bulls ! 


All skill in art and all desire of 




fame, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Were swallowed up in the delight- 


He has grown fat and lazy, 


ful music 


As if the lead clung to him like a 


Of that artillery. I saw far off, 


sinker. 


Within the enemy's trenches on 


He paints no more since he was 


the Prati, 


sent to Fondi 



736 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



By Cardinal Ippolito to paint 
The fair Gonzaga. Ah, you should 

have seen him 260 

As I did, riding through the city 

gate, 
In his brown hood, attended by 

four horsemen, 
Completely armed, to frighten the 

banditti. 
I think he would have frightened 

them alone, 
For he was rounder than the of 

Giotto. 

BENVENUTO. 

He must have looked more like a 

sack of meal 
Than a great painter. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Well, he is not great, 

But still I like him greatly. Ben- 
venuto, 

Have faith in nothing but in indus- 
try. 

Be at it late and early; perse- 
vere, 270 

And work right on through cen- 
sure and applause, 

Or else abandon Art. 

BENVENUTO. 

No man works harder 
Than I do. I am not a moment 
idle. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And what have you to show me ? 

BENVENUTO. 

This gold ring, 
Made for his Holiness, — my latest 

work, 
And I am proud of it. A single 

diamond, 
Presented by the Emperor to the 

Pope. 
Targhetta of Venice set and tinted 

it; 



I have reset it, and retinted it 
Divinely, as you see. The jewel- 
lers 280 
Say I 've surpassed Targhetta. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Let me see it 
A pretty jewel. 

BENVENUTO. 

That is not the expression, 
Pretty is not a very pretty word 
To be applied to such a precious 

stone, 
Given by an Emperor to a Pope, 

and set 
By Benvenuto I 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Messer Benvenuto, 
I lose all patience with you; for 

the gifts 
That God hath given you are of 

such a kind, 
They should be put to far more 

noble uses 
Than setting diamonds for the 

Pope of Pome. 290 

You can do greater things. 

BENVENUTO. 

The God who made me 
Knows why He made me what I am, 

— a goldsmith, 
A mere artificer. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Oh no ; an artist, 
Eichly endowed by nature, but 

who wraps 
His talent in a napkin, and con- 
sumes 
His life in vanities. 

BENVENUTO. 

Michael Angelo 
May say what Benvenuto would 

not bear 
From any other man. He speaki 

the truth. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



37 



I know my life is wasted and con- 


The Lilies that illumine heaven 


sumed 


and earth, 320 


In vanities ; but I have better 


And carry in mine equipage the 


hours 300 


model 


And higher aspirations than you 


Of a most marvellous golden salt- 


think. 


cellar 


Once, when a prisoner at St. An- 


For the king's table ; and here in 


gelo, 


my brain 


Fasting and praying in the mid- 


A statue of Mars Armipotent for 


night darkness, 


the fountain 


In a celestial vision I beheld 


Of Fontainebleau, colossal, won- 


A crucifix in the sun, of the same 


derful. 


substance 


I go a goldsmith, to return a sculp- 


As is the sun itself. And since 


tor. 


that hour 


And so farewell, great Master. 


There is a splendor round about 


Think of me 


my head, 


As one who, in the midst of all his 


That may be seen at sunrise and 


follies, 


at sunset 


Had also his ambition, and aspired 


Above my shadow on the grass. 


To better things. 


And now 




I know that I am in the grace of 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


God, 310 


Do not forget the vision. 


And none henceforth can harm 




me. 


Scene II. — Michael Angelo 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


sitting down again to the Di- 


None but one, — 


vina Commedia. 


None but yourself, who are your 




greatest foe. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


He that respects himself is safe 


Now in what circle of his poem 


from others ; 


sacred 331 


He wears a coat of mail that none 


Would the great Florentine have 


can pierce. 


placed this man ? 




Whether in Phlegethon, the river 


BENVENUTO. 


of blood, 


I always wear one. 


Or in the fiery belt of Purgatory, 




I know not, but most surely not 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


with those 


incorrigible ! 


Who walk in leaden cloaks. 


At least, forget not the celestial 


Though he is one 


vision. 


Whose passions, like a potent al- 


Man must have something higher 


kahest, 


than himself 


Dissolve his better nature, he is 


To think of. 


not 




That despicable thing, a hypocrite 


BENVENUTO. 


He doth not cloak his vices, noi- 


That I know full well. Now listen. 


deny them. 34c 


1 have been sent for into France, 


Come back, my thoughts, from him 


where grow 


to Paradise. 



738 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



IV 

FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO 

Scene I. — Michael Angelo; 
Fra Sebastiano del Piombo. 

Michael angelo, not turning 

round. 
Who is it? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

"Wait, for I am out of breath 
In climbing your steep stairs. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, my Bastiano, 
If you went up and down as many 

stairs 
As I do still, and climbed as many 

ladders, 
It would be better for you. Pray 

sit down. 
Your idle and luxurious way of 

living 
Will one day take your breath 

away entirely, 
And you will never find it. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Well, what then ? 
That would be better, in my appre- 
hension, 350 
Than falling from a scaffold. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

That was nothing. 
It did not kill me ; only lamed me 

slightly ; 
I am quite well again. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

But why, dear Master, 
Why do you live so high up in 

your house, 
When you can live below and have 

a garden, 
As I do ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

From this window I can look 



On many gardens; o'er the city 

roofs 
See the Campagna and the Alban 

hills : 
And all are mine. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Can you sit down in them 4 
On summer afternoons, and play 
the lute, 360 

Or sing, or sleep the time away ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I never 
Sleep in the day-time; scarcely 

sleep at night ; 
I have not time. Did you meet 

Benvenuto 
As you came up the stair? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

He ran against me 
On the first landing, going at full 

speed ; 
Dressed like the Spanish captain 

in a play, 
With his long rapier and his short 

red cloak. 
Why hurry through the world at 

such a pace ? 
Life will not be too long. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It is his nature, — 

A restless spirit, that consumes 

itself 370 

With useless agitations. He o'er- 



The goal he aims at. Patience is 

a plant 
That grows not in all gardens. 

You are made 
Of quite another clay. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And thank God for it. 

And now, being somewhat rested, 
I will tell you 

Why I have climbed these formid- 
able stairs. 

I have a friend, Francesco Berni, 
here, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



739 



A very charming poet and com- 
panion, 

Who greatly honors you and all 
your doings, 379 

And you must sup with us. 

MICHAEL, ANGELO. 

Not I, indeed. 
I know too well what artists' sup- 
pers are. 
You must excuse me. 

FEA SEBASTIANO. 

I will not excuse you. 

You need repose from your inces- 
sant work ; 

Some recreation, some bright 
hours of pleasure. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

To me, what you and other men 

call pleasure. 
Is only pain. Work is my recrea- 
tion, 
The play of faculty ; a delight like 

that 
Which a bird feels in flying, or a 

fish 
In darting through the water,— 

nothing more. 
I cannot go. The Sibylline leaves 

of life 390 

Grow precious now, when only 

few remain. 
I cannot go. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Berni, perhaps, will read 
A canto of the Orlando Innamorato. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

That is another reason for not go- 
ing. 
If aught is tedious and intolerable, 
It is a poet reading his own verses. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Berni thinks somewhat better of 

your verses 
Than you of his. He says that you 

speak things, 



And other poets words. So, pray 
you, come. 399 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If it were now the Improvisatore, 
Luigi Pulci, whom I used to hear 
With Benvenuto, in the streets of 

Florence, 
I might be tempted. I was younger 

then, 
And singing in the open air was 

pleasant. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

There is a Frenchman here, named 

Rabelais, 
Once a Franciscan friar, and now 

a doctor, 
And secretary to the embassy : 
A learned man, who speaks all 

languages, 
And wittiest of men ; who wrote a 

book 409 

Of the Adventures of Gargantua, 
So full of strange conceits one 

roars with laughter 
At every page ; a jovial boon-com- 
panion 
And lover of much wine. He too 

is coming. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Then you will not want me, who 
am not witty, 

And have no sense of mirth, and 
love not wine. 

I should be like a dead man at 
your banquet. 

Why should I seek this French- 
man, Rabelais ? 

And wherefore go to hear Fran- 
cesco Berni, 

When I have Dante Alighieri 
here, 419 

The greatest of all poets ? 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And the dullest ; 
And only to be read in episodes. 
His day is past. Petrarca is our 
poet. 



74Q 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Petrarca is for women and for 
lovers, 

And for those soft Abati, who de- 
light • 

To wander down long garden 
walks in summer, 

Tinkling their little sonnets all day 
long, 

As lap-dogs do their bells. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I love Petrarca. 
How sweetly of his absent love he 

sings, 
When journeying in the forest of 

Ardennes ! 
1 1 seem to hear her, hearing the 

boughs and breezes 430 

And leaves and birds lamenting, 

and the waters 
Murmuring flee along the verdant 

herbage.' 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Enough. It is all seeming, and no 

being. 
If you would know how a man 

speaks in earnest, 
Kead here this passage, where St. 

Peter thunders 
In Paradise against degenerate 

Popes 
And the corruptions of the church, 

till all 
The heaven about him blushes 

like a sunset. 
I beg you to take note of what he 

says 
About the Papal seals, for that 

concerns 440 

Your office and yourself. 

fra sebastiano, reading. 

Is this the passage ? 
1 Nor I be made the figure of a seal 
To privileges venal and menda- 
cious ; 
Whereat I often redden and flash 

with fire ! ' — 
That is not poetry. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What is it, then? 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Vituperation ; gall that might have 

spirted 
From Aretino's pen. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Name not that man ! 

A profligate, whom your Francesco 
Berni 

Describes as having one foot in the 
brothel 

And the other in the hospital ; who 
lives 450 

By flattering or maligning, as best 
serves 

His purpose at the time. He writes 
to me 

With easy arrogance of my Last 
Judgment, 

In such familiar tone that one 
would say 

The great event already had trans- 
pired, 

And he was present, and from ob- 
servation 

Informed me how the picture 
should be painted. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

What unassuming, unobtrusive 

men 
These critics are ! Now, to have 

Aretino 
Aiming his shafts at you brings 

back to mind 460 

The Gascon archers in the square 

of Milan, 
Shooting their arrows at Duke 

Sforza's statue, 
By Leonardo, and the foolish rab 

ble 
Of envious Florentines, that at 

your David 
Threw stones at night. But Are. 

tino praised you. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



74i 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

His praises were ironical. He 

knows 
How to use words as weapons, and 

to wound 
"While seeming to defend. But 

look, Bastiano, 
See how the setting sun lights up 

that picture ! 469 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

My portrait of Vittoria Colonna. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

It makes her look as she will look 

hereafter, 
When she becomes a saint ! 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

A noble woman! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Ah, these old hands can fashion 

fairer shapes 
In marble, and can paint diviner 

pictures, 
Since I have known her. 

FEA SEBASTIANO. 

And you like this picture ; 
And yet it is in oils, which you de- 
test. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When that barbarian Jan Van 
Eyck discovered 

The use of oil in painting, he de- 
graded 

His art into a handicraft, and 
made it 

Sign-painting, merely, for a coun- 
try inn 480 

Or wayside wine-shop. 'T is an 
art for women, 

Or for such leisurely and idle people 

As you are, Fra Bastiano. Nature 
paints not 

In oils, but frescoes the great 
dome of heaven 

With sunsets, and the lovely forms 
of clouds 

And flying vapors. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

And how soon they fade ! 

Behold yon line of roofs and bel- 
fries painted 

Upon the golden background of 
the sky, 

Like a Byzantine picture, or a por- 
trait 

Of Cimabue. See how hard the 
outline, 490 

Sharp-cut and clear, not rounded 
into shadow. 

Yet that is nature. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

She is always right. 
The picture that approaches sculp- 
ture nearest 
Is the best picture. 

FEA SEBASTIANO. 

Leonardo thinks 
The open air too bright. We ought 

to paint 
As if the sun were shining through 

a mist. 
'T is easier done in oil than in dis- 
temper. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Do not revive again the old dis- 
pute ; 

I have an excellent memory for 
forgetting, 

But I still feel the hurt. Wounds 
are not healed 500 

By the unbending of the bow that 
made them. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

So say Petrarca and the ancient 
proverb. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

But that is past. Now I am angry 

with you, 
Not tbat you paint in oils, but that, 

grown fat 
And indolent, you do not paint at 

all. 



742 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Why should I paint ? Why should 

I toil and sweat, 
Who now am rich enough to live 

at ease, 
And take my pleasure ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When Pope Leo died, 

He who had been so lavish of the 
wealth 

His predecessors left him, who re- 
ceived 510 

A basket of gold -pieces every 
morning, 

Which every night was empty, left 
behind 

Hardly enough to pay his funeral. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

I care for banquets, not for funer- 
als, 

As did his Holiness. I have for- 
bidden 

All tapers at my burial, and pro- 
cession 

Of priests and friars and monks ; 
and have provided 

The cost thereof be given to the 
poor! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

You have done wisely, but of that 

I speak not. 
Ghiberti left behind him wealth 

and children ; 520 

But who to-day would know that 

he had lived, 
If he had never made those gates 

of bronze 
En the old Baptistery, — those 

gates of bronze, 
Worthy to be the gates of Para- 
dise. 
His wealth is scattered to the 

winds ; his children 
Are long since dead; but those 

celestial gates 
Survive, and keep his name and 

memory green. 



FRA SEBASTIANO. 

But why should I fatigue myself? 

I think 
That all things it is possible to 

paint 
Have been already painted; and 

if not, 530 

Why, there are painters in the 

world at present 
Who can accomplish more in two 

short months 
Than I could in two years; so it 

is well 
That some one is contented to do 

nothing, 
And leave the field to others. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

O blasphemer ! 
Not without reason do the people 

call you 
Sebastian del Piombo, for the 

lead 
Of all the Papal bulls is heavy 

upon you, 
And wraps you like a shroud. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Misericordia ! 
Sharp is the vinegar of sweet wine, 

and sharp 540 

The words you speak, because the 

heart within you 
Is sweet unto the core. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How changed you arf 
From the Sebastiano I once knew- 
When poor, laborious, emulous to 

excel, 
You strove in rivalry with Bal- 

dassare 
And Raphael Sanzio. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Raphael is dead. 
He is but dust and ashes in his 

grave, 
While I am living and enjoying 

life, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



743 



And so am victor. One live Pope 

is worth 
A dozen dead ones. 

MICHAEL, ANGELO. 

Baphael is not dead ; 
He doth hut sleep; for how can 

he he dead 551 

Who lives immortal in the hearts 

of men? 
He only drank the precious wine 

of youth, 
The outbreak of the grapes, hef ore 

the vintage 
Was trodden to bitterness by the 

feet of men. 
The gods have given him sleep. 

We never were 
Nor could be foes, although our 

followers, 
Who are distorted shadows of our- 
selves, 
Have striven to make us so ; but 

each one worked 
Unconsciously upon the other's 

thought, 560 

Both giving and receiving. He 

perchance 
Caught strength from me, and I 

some greater sweetness 
And tenderness from his more gen- 
tle nature. 
I have but words of praise and 

admiration 
For his great genius ; and the 

world is fairer 
That he lived in it. 

FEA SEBASTTANO. 

We at least are friends ; 
So come with me. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

No, no ; I am best pleased 
When I 'm not asked to banquets. 

I have reached 
A time of life when daily walks 

are shortened, 
And even the houses of our dear- 
est friends, 570 



That used to be so near, seem far 
away. 

FRA SEBASTIANO. 

Then we must sup without you. 

We shall laugh 
At those who toil for fame, and 

make their lives 
A tedious martyrdom, that they 

may live 
A little longer in the mouths of 

men! 
And so, good-night. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Good-night, my Fra Bastiano. 



Scene II. — Michael Angelo, 
returning to Ms work. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

How will men speak of me when I 
am gone, 

When all this colorless, sad life is 
ended, 

And I am dust? They will re- 
member only 

The wrinkled forehead, the marred 
countenance, 580 

The rudeness of my speech, and 
my rough manners, 

And never dream that underneath 
them all 

There was a woman's heart of ten- 
derness ; 

They will not know the secret of 
my life, 

Locked up in silence, or but 
vaguely hinted 

In uncouth rhymes, that may per- 
chance survive 

Some little space in memories of 
men! 

Each one performs his life-work, 
and then leaves it ; 

Those that come after him will 
estimate 

His influence on the age in whicU 
he lived. s</ 



?44 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



V 


No more a pain to me, but a de. 


PALAZZO BELVEDERE 


light. 


Titian's studio. A painting of 


TITIAN. 


Danae with a curtain before it. 


I could not live here. I must have 


Titian, Michael Angblo, 


the sea, 


and Giorgio Vasari. 


And the sea-mist, with sunshine 




interwoven 610 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Like cloth of gold ; must have be- 


So you have left at last your still 


neath my windows 


lagoons, 


The laughter of the waves, and at 


Your City of Silence floating in the 


my door 


sea, 


Their pattering footsteps, or I am 


And come to us in Rome. 


not happy. 


TITIAN. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


I come to learn, 


Then tell me of your city in the 


But I have come too late. I should 


sea, 


have seen 


Paved with red basalt of the Pad- 


Rome in my youth, when all my 


uan hills. 


mind was open 


Tell me of art in Venice. Three 


To new impressions. Our Vasari 


great names, 


here 


Giorgione, Titian, and the Tinto- 


Leads me about, a blind man, 


retto, 


groping darkly 


Illustrate your Venetian school, 


Among the marvels of the past. I 


and send 


touch them, 


A challenge to the world. The 


But do not see them. 


first is dead, 619 




But Tintoretto lives. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




There are things in Rome 


TITIAN. 


That one might walk barefooted 


And paints with fire, 


here from Venice 600 


Sudden and splendid, as the light- 


But to see once, and then to die 


ning paints 


content. 


The cloudy vault of heaven. 


TITIAN. 


GIORGIO. 


I must confess that these majes- 


Does he still keep 


tic ruins 


Above his door the arrogant in- 


Oppress me with their gloom. I 


scription 


feel as one 


That once was painted there, — 


Who in the twilight stumbles 


• The color of Titian, 


among tombs, 


With the design of Michael An- 


And cannot read the inscriptions 


gelo ' ? 


carved upon them. 






TITIAN. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Indeed, I know not. 'T was a fool- 


I felt so once ; but I have grown 


ish boast, 


familiar 


And does no harm to any but hint 


With desolation, and it has be- 


self. . 


come 


Perhaps he has grown wiser. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



745 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 


That, when we die, with us all art 


When you two 


will die. 


Are gone, who is there that re- 


'T is but a fancy. Nature will pro- 


mains behind 


vide 650 


To seize the pencil falling from 


Others to take our places. I re- 


your fingers ? 630 


joice 




To see the young spring forward 


GIORGIO. 


in the race, 


Oh, there are many hands up- 


Eager as we were, and as full of 


raised already 


hope 


To clutch at such a prize, and 


And the sublime audacity of youth. 


hardly wait 




For death to loose your grasp, — a 


TITIAN. 


hundred of them : 


Men die and are forgotten. The 


Schiavone, Bonif azio, Campagnola, 


great world 


Moretto, and Moroni; who can 


Goes on the same. Among the 


count them, 


myriads 


Or measure their ambition ? 


Of men that live, or have lived, or 




shall live, 


TITIAN. 


What is a single life, or thine or 


When we are gone, 


mine, 


The generation that comes after us 


That we should think all nature 


Will have far other thoughts than 


would stand still 


ours. Our ruins 


If we were gone ? We must make 


Will serve to build their palaces 


room for others. 660 


or tombs. 




They will possess the world that 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


we think ours, 640 


And now, Maestro, pray unveil 


And fashion it far otherwise. 


your picture 




Of Danae, of which I hear such 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


praise. 


I hear 




Your son Orazio and your nephew 


Titian, drawing back the curtain. 


Marco 


What think you ? 


Mentioned with honor. 






MICHAEL ANGELO. 


TITIAN. 


That Acrisius did well 


Ay, brave lads, brave lads. 


To lock such beauty in a brazen 


But time will show. There is a 


tower, 


youth in Venice, 


And hide it from all eyes. 


One Paul Cagliari, called the Ver- 




onese, 


TITIAN. 


Still a mere stripling, but of such 


The model truly 


rare promise 


Was beautiful. 


That we must guard our laurels, 




or may lose them. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




And more, that you were present, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


And saw the showery Jove from 


These are good tidings: for I 


high Olympus 


sometimes fear 


Descend in all his splendor. 



746 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



TITIAN. 

From your lips 
Such words are full of sweetness. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

You have caught 
-jfhese golden hues from your Ve- 
netian sunsets. 670 

TITIAN. 

Possibly. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Or from sunshine through a shower 
On the lagoons, or the broad Adri- 
atic. 
Nature reveals herself in all our 

arts. 
The pavements and the palaces of 

cities 
Hint at the nature of the neighbor- 
ing hills. 
Red lavas from the Euganean 

quarries 
Of Padua pave your streets ; your 

palaces 
Are the white stones of Istria, and 

gleam 
Reflected in your waters and your 

pictures. 
And thus the works of every artist 

show 680 

Something of his surroundings and 

his habits. 
The uttermost that can be reached 

by color 
Is here accomplished. Warmth 

and light and softness 
Mingle together. Never yet was 

flesh 
Painted by hand of artist, dead or 

living, 
With such divine perfection. 

TITIAN. 

I am grateful 
For so much praise from you, who 

are a master ; 
While mostly those who praise 

and those who blame 
Know nothing of the matter, so 

that mainly 



Their censure sounds like praise, 
their praise like censure. &90 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Wonderful ! wonderful ! The 

charm of color 
Fascinates me the more that in 

myself 
The gift is wanting. I am not a 

painter. 

GIORGIO. 

Messer Michele, all the arts are 

yours, 
Not one alone; and therefore I 

may venture 
To put a question to you. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Well, speak on. 

GIORGIO. 

Two nephews of the Cardinal 

Farnese 
Have made me umpire in dispute 

between them 
Which is the greater of the sister 

arts, 
Painting or sculpture. Solve for 

me the doubt. 700 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Sculpture and painting have a 

common goal, 
And whosoever would attain to it, 
Whichever path he take, will find 

that goal 
Equally hard to reach. 

GIORGIO. 

No doubt, no doubt; 
But you evade the question. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

When I stand 
In presence of this picture, I con- 

cede 
That painting has attained its ut- 
termost ; 
But in the presence of my sculp- 
tured figures 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



747 



I feel that my conception soars 
beyond 709 

All limit I have reached. 

GIORGIO. 

You still evade me. 

MICHAEL, ANGELO. 

Giorgio Vasari, I have often said 
That I account that painting as 

the best 
Which most resembles sculpture. 

Here before us 
We have the proof. Behold these 

rounded limbs ! 
How from the canvas they detach 

themselves, 
Till they deceive the eye, and one 

would say, 
It is a statue with a screen behind 

it! 

TITIAN. 

Signori, pardon me; but all such 

questions 
Seem to me idle. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Idle as the wind. 

And now, Maestro, I will say once 
more 720 

How admirable I esteem your 
work, 

And leave you, without further in- 
terruption. 

TITIAN. 

Your friendly visit hath much hon- 
ored me. 



Farewell. 

MICHAEL ANGELO to GIORGIO, 

going out. 
If the Venetian painters knew 
But half as much of drawing as of 

color, 
They would indeed work miracles 

in art, 
And the world see what it hath 
never seen. 



VI 

PALAZZO CESARINI 

Scene I. — Vittoria Colonna, 
seated in an arm-chair; Julia 
Gonzaga, standing near her. 

JULIA. 

It grieves me that I find you still 

so weak 
And suffering. 

VITTORIA. 

No, not suffering ; only dying. 
Death is the dullness that pre- 
cedes the dawn ; 730 
We shudder for a moment, then 

awake 
In the broad sunshine of the other 

life. 
I am a shadow, merely, and these 

hands, 
These cheeks, these eyes, these 

tresses that my husband 
Once thought so beautiful, and I 

was proud of 
Because he thought them so, are 

faded quite, — 
All beauty gone from them. 

JULIA. 

Ah, no, not that. 
Paler you are, but not less beauti- 
ful. 

vittoria, folding her hands. 
O gentle spirit, unto the third cir- 
cle 
Of heaven among the blessed souls 

ascended, 740 

Who living for the faith and dying 

for it, 
Have gone to their reward, I do 

not mourn 
For thee as being dead, but for 

myself 
That I am still alive. A little 

longer 
Have patience with me, and if I 

am wanting 



748 MICHAEL 


ANGELO 


To thy well-being as thou art to 


Marco Flaminio, whom we all ad, 


mine, 


mired 


Have patience; I will come to 


And loved as our Catullus; deai 


thee ere long. 


Valdesso, 




The noble champion of free 


JULIA. 


thought and speech ; 


Do not give way to these forebod- 


And Cardinal Ippolito, your friend. 


ing thoughts. 






JULIA. 


VITTORIA. 


Oh, do not speak of him! His 


Hand me the mirror. I would 


sudden death 


fain behold 


O'ercomes me now, as it o'ercame 


What change comes o'er our fea- 


me then. 770 


tures when we die. 750 


Let me forget it ; for my memory 


Thank you. And now sit down 


Serves me too often as an unkind 


beside me here. 


friend, 


How glad I am that you have 


And I remember things I would 


come to-day, 


forget, 


Above all other days, and at the 


While I forget the things I would 


hour 


remember. 


When most I need you. 






VITTORIA. 


JULIA. 


Forgive me; I will speak of him 


Do you ever need me ? 


no more. 




The good Fra Bernardino has de- 


VITTORIA. 


parted, 


Always, and most of all to-day and 


Has fled from Italy, and crossed 


now. 


the Alps, 


Do you remember, Julia, when we 


Fearing Caraffa's wrath, because 


walked, 


he taught 


One afternoon, upon the castle ter- 


That He who made us all without 


race 


our help 


At Ischia, on the day before you 


Could also save us without aid of 


left me? 


ours. 780 




Renee of France, the Duchess of 


JULIA. 


Ferrara, 


Well I remember ; but it seems to 


That Lily of the Loire, is bowed 


me 


by winds 


Something unreal that has never 


That blow from Rome; Olympia 


been, 760 


Morata 


Something that I have read of in 


Banished from court because of 


a book, 


this new doctrine. 


Or heard of some one else. 


Therefore be cautious. Keep your 




secret thought 


VITTORIA. 


Locked in your breast. 


Ten years and more 




Have passed since then ; and many 


JULIA. 


things have happened 


I will be very prudent 


In those ten years, and many 


But speak no more, I pray ; it wea 


friends have died : 


ries you. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



749 



VITTORIA. 


Above her in the air. I can see 


Yes, I am very weary. Read to 


naught 


me. 


Except the painted angels on the 




ceiling. 810 


JULIA. 


Vittoria ! speak ! What is it ? 


Most willingly. What shall I 


Answer me ! — 


read? 


She only smiles, and stretches out 




her hands. 


VITTORIA. 


[The mirror falls and breaks. 


Petrarca's 




Triumph of Death. The book lies 


VITTORIA. 


on the table, 790 


Call my confessor ! — 


Beside the casket there. Eead 


Not disobedient to the heavenly 


where you find 


vision I 


The leaf turned down. 'T was 


Pescara ! my Pescara ! [Dies. 


there I left off reading. 






JULIA. 


julia reads. 


Holy Virgin .' 


* Not as a flame that by some force 


Her body sinks together, — she is 


is spent, 


dead ! 


But one that of itself consumeth 


[Kneels, and hides her face in 


quite, 


Vittoria' l s lap. 


Departed hence in peace the 




soul content, 




In fashion of a soft and lucent 


Scene II. — Julia Gonzaga. 


light 


Michael Angelo. 


Whose nutriment by slow grada- 




tion goes, 


JULIA. 


Keeping until the end its lustre 
bright. 
Not pale, but whiter than the sheet 


Hush ! make no noise. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


of snows 


How is she ? 


That without wind on some fair 




hill-top lies, 800 


JULIA. 


Her weary body seemed to find 


Never better. 


repose. 




Like a sweet slumber in her lovely 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


eyes, 


Then she is dead 1 


When now the spirit was no 




longer there, 


JULIA. 


Was what is dying called by the 


Alas ! yes, she is dead ! 


unwise. 


Even death itself in her fair face 


E'en Death itself in her fair face 


seems fair. 


seemed fair.' 






MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Is it of Laura that he here is 


How wonderful ! The light upon 


speaking ? — 


her face 820 


She doth not answer, yet is not 


Shines from the windows of an- 


asleep ; 


other world. 


Her eyes are full of light and fixed 


Saints only have such faces. Holy 


on something 


Angels ! 



75° 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Bear her like sainted Catherine to 
her rest ! 

[.Kisses Vittoria's hand. 



PAET THIED 

I 

MONOLOGUE 

Macello de" 1 Corvi. A room in 
Michael Angelo's house. 

Michael Angelo, standing be- 
fore a model of St. Peter's. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Better than thou I cannot, Brunel- 

' leschi, 
And less than thou I will not ! If 

the thought 
Could, like a windlass, lift the 

ponderous stones 
And swing them to their places; 

if a breath 
Could blow this rounded dome 

into the air, 
As if it were a bubble, and these 

statues 
Spring at a signal to their sacred 

stations, 
As sentinels mount guard upon a 

wall, 
Then were my task completed. 

Now, alas ! 
Naught am I but a Saint Sebaldus, 

holding 10 

Upon his hand the model of a 

church, 
As German artists paint him ; and 

what years, 
What weary years, must drag 

themselves along, 
Ere this be turned to stone! 

What hindrances 
Must block the way ; what idle in- 
terferences 
Of Cardinals and Canons of St. 

Peter's, 
Who nothing know of art beyond 

the color 



Of cloaks and stockings, nor oi 

any building 
Save that of their own fortunes! 

And what then ? 
I must then the short-coming ol 

my means 20 

Piece out by stepping forward, as 

the Spartan 
Was told to add a step to his short 

sword. 

\_A pause. 
And is Fra Bastian dead? Is all 

that light 
Gone out? that sunshine dark- 
ened ? all that music 
And merriment, that used to make 

our lives 
Less melancholy, swallowed up in 

silence 
Like madrigals sung in the street 

at night 
By passing revellers ? It is strange 

indeed 
That he should die before me. 'T is 

against 
The laws of nature that the young 

should die, 30 

And the old live ; unless it be that 

some 
Have long been dead who think 

themselves alive, 
Because not buried. Well, what 

matters it, 
Since now that greater light, that 

was my sun, 
Is set, and all is darkness, all is 

darkness ! 
Death's lightnings strike to right 

and left of me, 
And, like a ruined wall, the world 

around me 
Crumbles away, and I am leff 

alone. 
I have no friends, and want none 

My own thoughts 
Are now my sole companions, - 

thoughts of her, 4 

That like a benediction from the 

skies 
Come to me in my solitude and 

soothe me. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



751 



When men are old, the incessant 


'T is the old ox that draws the 


thought of Death 


straightest furrow. 


Follows them like their shadow: 




sits with them 


CARDINAL MARCELLO. 


At every meal ; sleeps with them 


Your Holiness remembers he was 


when they sleep ; 


charged 


And when they wake already is 


With the repairs upon St. Mary's 


awake, 


bridge ; 


And standing by their bedside. 


Made cofferdams, and heaped up 


Then, what folly 


load on load 


It is in us to make an enemy 


Of timber and travertine ; and yet 


Of this importunate follower, not 


for years 


a friend ! 


The bridge remained unfinished, 


To me a friend, and not an enemy, 


till we gave it 


Has he become since all my friends 


To Baccio Bigio. 


are dead. 51 






JULIUS. 


II 


Always Baccio Bigio ! 




Is there no other architect on 


VIGNA DI PAPA GIULIO 


earth ? 70 




Was it not he that sometime had 


Scene L — Pope Julius III. 


in charge 


seated by the Fountain of Acqua 


The harbor of Ancona ? 


Vergine, surrounded by Cardi- 




nals. 


CARDINAL MARCELLO. 


JULIUS. 


Ay, the same. 


Tell me, why is it ye are discon- 




tent. 


JULIUS. 


You, Cardinals Salviati and Mar- 


Then let me tell you that your 


cello, 


Baccio Bigio 


With Michael Angelo ? What has 


Did greater damage in a single day 


he done, 


To that fair harbor than the sea 


Or left undone, that ye are set 


had done 


against him ? 


Or would do in ten years. And 


When one Pope dies, another is 


him you think 


soon made ; 


To put in place of Michael Angelo, 


And I can make a dozen Cardi- 


In building the Basilica of St. 


nals, 


Peter ! 


But cannot make one Michael 


The ass that thinks himself a stag 


Angelo. 


discovers 




His error when he comes to leap 


CARDINAL SALVIATI. 


the ditch. So 


Your Holiness, we are not set 




against him ; 


CARDINAL MARCELLO. 


We but deplore his incapacity. 60 


He does not build; he but de- 


He is too old. 


molishes 




The labors of Bramante and San 


JULIUS. 


Gallo. 


You, Cardinal Salviati, 




A-re an old man. Are you inca- 


JULIUS. 


pable ? 


Only to build more grandly. 



752 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



CARDINAL MAKCELLO. 

But time passes ; 

Year after year goes by, and yet 
the work 

Is not completed. Michael An- 
gelo 

Is a great sculptor, but no archi- 
tect. 

His plans are faulty. 

JULIUS. 

I have seen his model, 
And have approved it. But here 

comes the artist. 
Beware of him. He may make 

Persians of you, 
To carry burdens on your backs 

forever. 90 



Scene II. — The same : Michael 
Angelo. 

JULIUS. 

Come forward, dear Maestro. In 

these gardens 
All ceremonies of our court are 

banished. 
Sit down beside me here. 

Michael angelo, sitting down. 

How graciously 

Your Holiness commiserates old 

age 
And its infirmities t 

JULIUS. 

Say its privileges. 

Art I respect. The building of 
this palace 

And laying out of these pleasant 
garden walks 

Are my delight, and if I have not 
asked 

Your aid in this, it is that I for- 
bear 

To lay new burdens on you at an 
age 100 

When you need rest. Here I es- 
cape from Rome 



To be at peace. The tumult of 

the city 
Scarce reaches here. 

mtchael angelo. 

How beautiful it is, 
And quiet almost as a hermitage ! 

JULIUS. 

We live as hermits here ; and from 

these heights 
O'erlook all Rome and see the 

yellow Tiber 
Cleaving in twain the city, like a 

sword, 
As far below there as St. Mary's 

bridge. 
What think you of that bridge ? 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I would advise 
Your Holiness not to cross it, or 
not often; no 

It is not safe. 

JULIUS. 

It was repaired of late. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Some morning you will look for it 

in vain ; 
It will be gone. The current of 

the river 
Is undermining it. 

JULIUS. 

But you repaired it 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I strengthened all its piers, and 

paved its road 
With travertine. He who came 

after me 
Removed the stone and sold it, 

and filled in 
The space with gravel. 

JULIUS. 

Cardinal Salviati 
And Cardinal Marcello, do you 
listen ? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



753 



This is your famous Nauni Baccio 


Is somewhere else, and not in the 


Bigio. 120 


Three Chapels. 140 




Who are the deputies that make 


MICHAEL ANGELO, aside. 


complaint ? 


There is some mystery here. These 




Cardinals 


JULIUS. 


Stand lowering at me with un- 


The Cardinals Salviati and Mar- 


friendly eyes. 


cello, 




Here present. 


JULIUS. 




Now let us come to what concerns 


Michael angelo, rising. 


us more 


With permission, Monsignori, 


Than bridge or gardens. Some 


What is it ye complain of ? 


complaints are made 




Concerning the Three Chapels in 


cardinal marcello. 


St. Peter's ; 


We regret 


Certain supposed defects or im- 


You have departed from Bra- 


perfections, 


mante's plan, 


You doubtless can explain. 


And from San Gallo's. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


This is no longer 


Since the ancient time 


The golden age of art. Men have 


No greater architect has lived on 


become 


earth 


Iconoclasts and critics. They de- 


Than Lazzari Bramante. His de- 


light not 


sign, 


In what an artist does, but set 


Without confusion, simple, clear, 


themselves 130 


well-lighted, 


To censure what they do not com- 


Merits all praise, and to depart 


prehend. 


from it 150 


You will not see them bearing a 


Would be departing from the 


Madonna 


truth. San Gallo, 


Of Cimabue to the church in 


Building about with columns, took 


triumph, 


all light 


But tearing down the statue of a 


Out of this plan ; left in the choir 


Pope 


dark corners 


To cast it into cannon. Who are 


For infinite ribaldries, and lurking 


they 


places 


That bring complaints against 


For rogues and robbers; so that 


me? 


when the church 




Was shut at night, not five and 


JULIUS. 


twenty men 


Deputies 


Could find them out. It was San 


Of the Commissioners ; and they 


Gallo then, 


complain 


That left the church in darkness, 


Of insufficient light in the Three 


and not I. 


Chapels. 






CARDINAL MARCELLO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Excuse me; but in each of the 


Your Holiness, the insufficient 


Three Chapels 


light 


Is but a single window. 



754 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Monsignore, 
Perhaps you do not know that in 

the vaulting 161 

Above there are to go three other 

windows. 

CARDINAL SALVIATI. 

How should we know ? You never 
told us of it. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I neither am obliged, nor will I be, 
To tell your Eminence or any 

other 
What I intend or ought to do. 

Your office 
Is to provide the means* and see 

that thieves 
Do not lay hands upon them. The 

designs 
Must all be left to me. 

CARDINAL MARCELLO. 

Sir architect, 
You do forget yourself, to speak 

thus rudely 170 

In presence of his Holiness, and 

to us 
Who are his Cardinals. 

michael angelo, putting on his 
hat. 

I do not forget 
I am descended from the Counts 

Canossa, 
Linked with the Imperial line, and 

with Matilda, 
Who gave the Church Saint Peter's 

Patrimony. 
I, too, am proud to give unto the 

Church 
The labor of these hands, and what 

of life 
Eemains to me. My father Buo- 

narotti 
Was Podesta of Chiusi and Ca- 

prese. 
I am not used to have men speak 

to me 180 



As if I were a mason, hired to 

build 
A garden wall, and paid on Satur. 

days 
So much an hour. 

CARDINAL SALVIA TT, aside. 

No wonder that Pope Clement 
Never sat down in presence of this 

man, 
Lest he should do the same ; and 

always bade him 
Put on his hat, lest he unasked 

should do it ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

If any one could die of grief and 

shame, 
I should. This labor was imposed 

upon me ; 
I did not seek it ; and if I assumed 

it, 
'T was not for love of fame or love 

of gain, i 9 o 

But for the love of God. Perhaps 

old age 
Deceived me, or self-interest, or 

ambition ; 
I may be doing harm instead of 

good. 
Therefore, I pray your Holiness, 

release me ; 
Take off from me the burden of 

this work ; 
Let me go back to Florence. 



JULIUS. 



Never, never, 



While I am living. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Doth your Holiness 
Eemember what the Holy Scrip- 
tures say 
Of the inevitable time, when those 
Who look out of the windows shall 
be darkened, 200 

And the almond-tree shall flour, 
ish? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



755 



JULIUS. 


And shall endure, advantage not 


That is in 


my soul, 


Ecclesiastes. 


I am but losing time. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Julius, laying his hands on 


And the grasshopper 


Michael angel o's shoulders. 


Shall be a burden, and desire shall 


You will be gainer 


fail, 


Both for your soul and body. 


Because man goeth unto his long 




home. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Vanity of Vanities, saith the 


Not events 


Preacher; all 


Exasperate me, but the funest con- 


Is vanity. 


clusions 




I draw from these events ; the sure 


JULIUS. 


decline 


Ah, were to do a thing 


Of art, and all the meaning of that 


As easy as to dream of doing it, 


word ; 


We should not want for artists. 


All that embellishes and sweetens 


But the men 


life, 


Who carry out in act their great 


And lifts it from the level of low 


designs 


cares 230 


Are few in number ; aye, they may 


Into the purer atmosphere of 


be counted 210 


beauty ; 


Upon the fingers of this hand. 


The faith in the Ideal ; the inspira- 


Your place 


tion 


Is at St. Peter's. 


That made the canons of the 




church of Seville 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Say, ' Let us build, so that all men 


I have had my dream, 


hereafter 


And cannot carry out my great 


Will say that we were madmen.' 


conception, 


Holy Father, 


And put it into act. 


I beg permission to retire from 




here. 


JULIUS. 




Then who can do it ? 


JULIUS. 


You would but leave it to some 


Go; and my benediction be upon 


Baccio Bigio 


you. 


To mangle and deface. 




MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Scene III. — Pope Julius and 


Bather than that, 


the Cardinals. 


I will still bear the burden on my 




shoulders 


JULIUS. 


A little longer. If your Holiness 


My Cardinals, this Michael Angelo 


Will keep the world in order, and 


Must not be dealt with as a com- 


will leave 


mon mason. 


The building of the church to me, 


He comes of noble blood, and for 


the work 220 


his crest 240 


Will go on better for it. Holy 


Bears two bull's horns : and he has 


Father, 


given us proof 


If all the labors that I have en- 


That be can toss with them. From 


dured, 


this day forth 



756 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Unto the end of time, let no man 


The same old tale of violence and 


utter 


wrong. 


The name of Baccio Bigio in my 


Since the disastrous day at Monte 


presence. 


Murlo, 


All great achievements are the 


When in procession, through San 


natural fruits 


Gallo's gate, 260 


Of a great character. As trees 


Bareheaded, clothed in rags, on 


bear not 


sorry steeds, 


Their fruits of the same size and 


Philippo Strozzi and the good Va- 


quality, 


lori 


But each one in its kind with equal 


Amid the shouts of an ungrateful 


ease, 


people 


So are great deeds as natural to 


Were led as prisoners down the 


great men 


streets of Florence, 


As mean things are to small ones. 


Hope is no more, and liberty no 


By his work 250 


more. 


We know the master. Let us not 


Duke Cosimo, the tyrant, reigns 


perplex him. 


supreme. 




MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Ill 


Florence is dead: her houses are 




but tombs ; 


BINDO ALTOVITI 


Silence and solitude are in her 




streets. 


A street in Rome. Bindo Alto- 




ViTi, standing at the door of 


BINDO. 


his house. Michael Angelo, 


Ah yes ; and often I repeat the* 


passing. 


words 




You wrote upon your statue of the 


BINDO. 


Night, 270 


Good-morning, Messer Michael 


There in the Sacristy of San Lo- 


Angelo ! 


renzo : 




' Grateful to me is sleep ; to be of 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


stone 


Good-morning, Messer Bindo Al- 


More grateful, while the wrong 


toviti ! 


and shame endure ; 




To see not, feel not, is a benedic- 


BINDO. 


tion; 


What brings you forth so early ? 


Therefore awake me not; oh, speak 




in whispers.' 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




The same reason 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


That keeps you standing sentinel 


Ah, Messer Bindo, the calami- 


at your door, — 


ties, 


The air of this delicious summer 


The fallen fortunes, and the deso- 


morning. 


lation 


What news have you from Flor- 


Of Florence are to me a tragedy 


ence? 


Deeper than words, and darker 




than despair. 


BINDO. 


I, who have worshipped freedom 


Nothing new ; 


from my cradle, 280 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



757 



Have loved her with the passion of 


Are of the best one sees. But you 


a lover, 


have placed it 


And clothed her with all lovely 


By far too high. The light comes 


attributes 


from below, 


That the imagination can con- 


And injures the expression. Were 


ceive, 


these windows 


Or the heart conjure up, now see 


Above and not beneath it, then in- 


her dead, 


deed 


And trodden in the dust beneath 


It would maintain its own among 


the feet 


these works 


Of an adventurer ! It is a grief 


Of the old masters, noble as they 


Too great for me to bear in my old 


are. 


age. 


I will go in and study it more 




closely. 


BINDO. 


I always prophesied that Benve- 


I say no news from Florence: I 


nuto, 


am wrong, 


With all his follies and fantastic 


For Benvenuto writes that he is 


ways, 


coming 


Would show his genius in some 


To be my guest in Rome. 


work of art 310 




That would amaze the world, and 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


be a challenge 


Those are good tidings. 


Unto all other artists of his time. 


He hath been many years away 


{They go in. 


from us. 291 




BINDO. 


IY 


Pray you, come in. 


IN THE COLISEUM 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Michael Angelo and Tomaso 


I have not time to stay, 


DE' CAVALIERI. 


And yet I will. I see from here 




your house 


CAVALIERI. 


Is filled with works of art. That 


What do you here alone, Messer 


bust in bronze 


Michele ? 


Is of yourself. Tell me, who is the 




master 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


That works in such an admirable 


I come to learn. 


way, 




And with such power and feeling? 


CAVALIERI. 




You are already master, 


BINDO. 


And teach all other men. 


Benvenuto. 






MICHAEL ANGELO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Nay, I know nothing ; 


Ah ? Benvenuto ? 'T is a master- 


Not even my own ignorance, as 


piece ! 


some 


It pleases me as much, and even 


Philosopher hath said. I am a 


more, 


school-boy 


Than the antiques about it ; and 


Who hath not learned his lesson, 


yet they 300 


and who stands 



758 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Ashamed and silent in the awful 


And to the constellations that at 


presence 


night 


Of the great master of anti- 


Hang poised above it like a swarm 


quity 320 


of bees. 


Who built these walls cyclopean. 






CAVALIERI. 


CAVALIERI. 


The rose of Eome, but not of Para- 


Gaudentius 


dise ; 340 


His name was, I remember. His 


Not the white rose our Tuscan 


reward 


poet saw, 


Was to be thrown alive to the wild 


With saints for petals. When this 


beasts 


rose was perfect 


Here where we now are stand- 


Its hundred thousand petals were 


ing. 


not saints, 




But senators in their Thessalian 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


caps, 


Idle tales. 


And all the roaring populace of 




Kome; 


CAVALIERI. 


And even an Empress and the 


But you are greater than Gauden- 


Vestal Virgins, 


tius was, 


Who came to see the gladiators 


And your work nobler. 


die, 




Could not give sweetness to a rose 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


like this. 


Silence, I beseech you. 






MICHAEL ANGELO. 


CAVALIERI. 


I spake not of its uses, but its 


Tradition says that fifteen thou- 


beauty. 


sand men 




Were toiling for ten years inces- 


CAVALIERI. 


santly 


The sand beneath our feet is satu- 


Upon this amphitheatre. 


rate 350 




With blood of martyrs ; and these 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


rifted stones 


Behold 


Are awful witnesses against a peo- 


How wonderful it is ! The queen 


ple 


of flowers, 330 


Whose pleasure was the pain of 


The marble rose of Eome! Its 

petals torn 
By wind and rain of thrice five 


dying men. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


hundred years ; 


Tomaso Cavalieri, on my word, 


Its mossy sheath half rent away, 


You should have been a preacher, 


and sold 


not a painter ! 


To ornament our palaces and 


Think you that I approve such 


churches, 


cruelties, 


Or to be trodden under feet of 


Because I marvel at the archi- 


man 


tects 


Upon the Tiber's bank ; yet what 


Who built these walls, and curved 


remains 


these noble arches ? 


Still opening its fair bosom to the 


Oh, I am put to shame, when I 


sun, 


consider 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



759 



How mean our work is, when com- 
pared with theirs ! 360 

Look at these walls about us and 
above us ! 

They have been shaken by earth- 
quakes, have been made 

A fortress, and been battered by 
long sieges ; 

The iron clamps, that held the 
stones together, 

Have been wrenched from them ; 
but they stand erect 

And firm, as if they had been hewn 
and hollowed 

Out of the solid rock, and were a 
part 

Of the foundations of the world 
itself. 

CAVALIERI. 

Your work, I say again, is nobler 

work, 
In so far as its end and aim are 

nobler; 370 

And this is but a ruin, like the 

rest. 
Its vaulted passages are made the 

caverns 
Of robbers, and are haunted by 

the ghosts 
Of murdered men. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A thousand wild flowers bloom 

From every chink, and the birds 
build their nests 

Among the ruined arches, and 
suggest 

New thoughts of beauty to the 
architect. 

Now let us climb the broken stairs 
that lead 

Into the corridors above, and study 

The marvel and the mystery of 
that art 380 

In which I am a pupil, not a mas- 
ter. 

All things must have an end ; the 
world itself 



Must have an end, as in a dream I 

saw it. 
There came a great hand out of 

heaven, and touched 
The earth, and stopped it in its 

course. The seas 
Leaped, a vast cataract, into the 

abyss ; 
The forests and the fields slid off, 

and floated 
Like wooded islands in the air. 

The dead 
Were hurled forth from their se- 
pulchres ; the living 
Were mingled with thenu and 

themselves were dead, — 390 
All being dead ; and the fair, shin- 
ing cities 
Dropped out like jewels from a 

broken crown. 
Naught but the core of the great 

globe remained, 
A skeleton of stone. And over it 
The wrack of matter drifted like a 

cloud, 
And then recoiled upon itself, and 

fell 
Back on the empty world, that 

with the weight 
Keeled, staggered, righted, and 

then headlong plunged 
Into the darkness, as a ship, when 

struck 
By a great sea, throws off the 

waves at first 400 

On either side, then settles and 

goes down 
Into'the dark abyss, with her dead 

crew. 

CAVALIERI. 

But the earth does not move. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Who knows ? who knows ? 
There are great truths that pitch 

their shining tents 
Outside our walls, and though but 

dimly seen 
In the gray dawn, they will be 

manifest 



760 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



When the light widens into perfect 

day. 
A certain man, Copernicus by 

name, 
Sometime professor here in Eome, 

has whispered 
It is the earth, and not the sun, 

that moves. 410 

What I beheld was only in a 

dream, 
Yet dreams sometimes anticipate 

events, 
Being unsubstantial images of 

things 
As yet unseen. 



MACELLO DE' CORVI 

Michael Angelo, Benvenuto 
Cellini. 

michael angelo. 

So, Benvenuto, you return once 
more 

To the Eternal City. 'T is the cen- 
tre 

To which all gravitates. One finds 
no rest 

Elsewhere than here. There may 
be other cities 

That please us for a while, but 
Kome alone 

Completely satisfies. It becomes 
to all 420 

A second native land by predilec- 
tion, 

And not by accident of birth alone. 

BENVENUTO. 

I am but just arrived, and am now 

lodging 
With Bindo Altoviti. I have been 
To kiss the feet of our most Holy 

Father, 
And now am come in haste to kiss 

the hands 
Of my miraculous Master. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

And to find him 
Grown very old. 

BENVENUTO. 

You know that precious stones 
Never grow old. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Half sunk beneath the horizon, 
And yet not gone. Twelve years 
are a long while. 430 

Tell me of France. 

BENVENUTO. 

It were too long a tale 
To tell you all. Suffice in brief to 

say 
The King received me well, and 

loved me well ; 
Gave me the annual pension that 

before me 
Our Leonardo had, nor more nor 

less, 
And for my residence the Tour de 

Nesle, 
Upon the river-side. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

A princely lodging. 

BENVENUTO. 

What in return I did now matters 

not, 
For there are other things, of 

greater moment, 
I wish to speak of. First of all, 

the letter 440 

You wrote me, not long since, 

about my bust 
Of Bindo Altoviti, here in Rome. 

You said, 
' My Benvenuto, I for many years 
Have known you as the greatest 

of all goldsmiths, 
And now I know you as no less a 

sculptor.' 
Ah, generous Master ! How shall 

I e'er thank you 
For such kind language ? 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



761 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

By believing it. 

I saw the bust at Messer Bindo's 
bouse, 

And tbougbt it worthy of the an- 
cient masters, 

And said so. That is all. 

BENVENUTO. 

It is too much ; 
And I should stand abashed here 

in your presence, 451 

Had I done nothing worthier of 

your praise 
Than Bindo's bust. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What have you done that 's better ? 

BENVENUTO. 

When I left Rome for Paris, you 

remember 
I promised you that if I went a 

goldsmith 
I would return a sculptor. I have 

kept 
The promise I then made, 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Dear Benvenuto, 
I recognized the latent genius in 

you, 
But feared your vices. 

BENVENUTO. 

I have turned them all 
To virtues. My impatient, way- 
ward nature, 460 
That made me quick in quarrel, 

now has served me 
Where meekness could not, and 

where patience could not, 
A-S you shall hear now. I have 

cast in bronze 
A statue of Perseus, holding thus 

aloft 
In his left hand the head of the 

Medusa, 
ind in his right the sword that 

severed it ; 



His right foot planted on the life- 
less corse ; 

His face superb and pitiful, with 
eyes 

Down-looking on the victim of his 
vengeance. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

I see it as it should be. 

BENVENUTO. 

As it will be 
When it is placed upon the Ducal 

Square, 471 

Half-way between your David and 

the Judith 
Of Donatello. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Rival of them both ! 

BENVENUTO. 

But ah, what infinite trouble have 
I had 

With Bandinello, and that stupid 
beast, 

The major-domo of Duke Cosimo, 

Francesco Ricci, and their 
wretched agent 

Gorini, who came crawling round 
about me 

Like a black spider, with his whin- 
ing voice 

That sounded like the buzz of a 
mosquito ! 480 

Oh, I have wept in utter despera- 
tion, 

And wished a thousand times I 
had not left 

My Tour de Nesle, nor e'er re- 
turned to Florence, 

Nor thought of Perseus. What 
malignant falsehoods 

They told the Grand Duke, to im- 
pede my work, 

And make me desperate ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

The nimble lie 
Is like the second-hand upon a 
clock ; 



762 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



We see it fly, while the hour-hand 


What a wild scene it was, as late 


of truth 


at night, 


Seems to stand still, and yet it 


A night of wind and rain, we 


moves unseen, 


heaped the furnace 510 


And wins at last, for the clock will 


With pine of Serristori, till the 


not strike 490 


flames 


Till it has reached the goal. 


Caught in the rafters over us, and 




threatened 


BENVENUTO. 


To send the burning roof upon our 


My obstinacy 


heads ; 


Stood me in stead, and helped me 


And from the garden side the wind 


to o'ercome 


and rain 


The hindrances that envy and ill- 


Poured in upon us, and half 


will 


quenched our fires. 


Put in my way. 


I was beside myself with despera- 
tion. 
A shudder came upon me, then a 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


When anything is done 


fever ; 


People see not the patient doing 


I thought that I was dying, and 


of it, 


was forced 


Nor think how great would be the 


To leave the work-shop, and to 


loss to man 


throw myself 


If it had not been done. As in a 


Upon my bed, as one who has no 


building 


hope. 520 


Stone rests on stone, and wanting 


And as I lay there, a deformed old 


the foundation 


man 


All would be wanting, so in human 


Appeared before me, and with dis- 


life 


mal voice, 


Each action rests on the foregone 


Like one who doth exhort a crimi- 


event, 5°° 


nal 


That made it possible, but is for- 


Led forth to death, exclaimed, 


gotten 


' Poor Benvenuto, 


And buried in the earth. 


Thy work is spoiled ! There is no 

remedy ! ' 
Then with a cry so loud it might 


BENVENUTO. 


Even Bandinello, 


have reached 


Who never yet spake well of any- 


The heaven of fire, I bounded to 


thing, 


my feet, 


Speaks well of this; and yet he 


And rushed back to my workmen. 


told the Duke 


They all stood 


That, though I cast small figures 


Bewildered and desponding; and 


well enough, 


I looked 


I never could cast this. 


Into the furnace, and beheld the 




mass 530 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Half molten only, and in my de- 


But you have done it, 


spair 


And proved Ser Bandinello a false 


I fed the fire with oak, whose terri- 


prophet. 


ble heat 


That is the wisest way. 


Soon made the sluggish metal 




shine and sparkle. 


BENVENUTO. 


Then followed a bright flash, and 


And ah, that casting ! 


an explosion, 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



763 



As if a thunderbolt had fallen 


There was just bronze enough to 


among us. 


fill the mould ; 


The covering of the furnace had 


Not a drop over, not a drop too 


been rent 


little. 


Asunder, and the bronze was flow- 


I looked upon it as a miracle 


ing over ; 


Wrought by the hand of God. 


So that I straightway opened all 




the sluices 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


To fill the mould. The metal ran 


And now I see 


like lava, 


How you have turned your vices 


Sluggish and heavy; and I sent 


into virtues. 561 


my workmen 540 




To ransack the whole house, and 


BENVENUTO. 


bring together 


But wherefore do I prate of this? 


My pewter plates and pans, two 


I came 


hundred of them, 


To speak of other things. Duke 


And cast them one by one into the 


Cosimo 


furnace 


Through me invites you to return 


To liquefy the mass, and in a mo- 


to Florence, 


ment 


And offers you great honors, even 


The mould was filled ! I fell upon 


to make you 


my knees 


One of the Forty-Eight, his Sena- 


And thanked the Lord ; and then 


tors. 


we ate and drank 




And went to bed, all hearty and 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


contented. 


His Senators ! That is enough. 


It was two hours before the break 


Since Florence 


of day. 


Was changed by Clement Seventh 


My fever was quite gone. 


from a Republic 




Into a Dukedom, I no longer wish 


MICHAEL, ANGELO. 


To be a Florentine. That dream 


A strange adventure, 


is ended. 570 


That could have happened to no 


The Grand Duke Cosimo now 


man alive 550 


reigns supreme ; 


But you, my Benvenuto. 


All liberty is dead. Ah, woe is me ! 




1 hoped to see my country rise to 


BENVENUTO. 


heights 


As my workmen said 


Of happiness and freedom yet un- 


To major-domo Kicci afterward 


reached 


When he inquired of them : 


By other nations, but the climbing 


' 'T was not a man, 


wave 


But an express great devil.' 


Pauses, lets go its hold, and slides 




again 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Back to the common level, with a 


And the statue ? 


hoarse 




Death-rattle in its throat. I am 


BENVENUTO. 


too old 


Perfect in every part, save the 


To hope for better days. I will 


right foot 


stay here 


Of Perseus, as I had foretold the 


And die in Rome. The very weeds, 


Duke. 


that grow 580 



764 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



Among the broken fragments of 


And with such subtle and infernal 


her ruins, 


malice, 601 


Are sweeter to me than the garden 


I wonder at his wickedness. 'T is 


flowers 


he 


Of other cities; and the desolate 


Is the express great devil, and not 


ring ^ 


you. 


Of the Campagna round about her 


Some years ago he told me how to 


walls 


paint 


Fairer than all the villas that en- 


The scenes of the Last Judgment. 


circle 




The towns of Tuscany. 


BENVENUTO. 




I remember. 


BENVENUTO. 




But your old friends ! 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 




Well, now he writes to me that, as 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


a Christian, 


All dead by violence. Baccio Va- 


He is ashamed of the unbounded 


lori 


freedom 


Has been beheaded ; Guicciardini 

poisoned ; 
Philippo Strozzi strangled in his 


With which I represent it. 


BENVENUTO. 


prison. 


Hypocrite ! 


Is Florence then a place for hon- 




est men 590 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


To flourish in ? What is there to 


He says I show mankind that I 


prevent 


am wanting 


My sharing the same fate ? 


In piety and religion, in proportion 




As I profess perfection in my art. 


BENVENUTO. 


Profess perfection ? Why, 't is 


Why, this : if all 


only men 612 


Your friends are dead, so are your 


Like Bugiardini who are satisfied 


enemies. 


With what they do. I never am 




content, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


But always see the labor of my 


Is Aretino dead? 


hand 




Fall short of my conception. 


BENVENUTO. 




He lives in Venice, 


BENVENUTO. 


And not in Florence. 


I perceive 




The malice of this creature. He 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


would taint you 


'T is the same to me. 


With heresy, and in a time like 


This wretched mountebank, whom 


this ! 


flatterers 


'T is infamous ! 


Call the Divine, as if to make the 




word 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Unpleasant in the mouths of those 


I represent the angels 


who speak it 


Without their heavenly glory, and 


And in the ears of those who hear 


the saints 620 


it, sends me 


Without a trace of earthly mod- 


A letter written for the public eye, 


esty. 



MICHAEL 


ANGELO 765 


BENVENUTO. 


With such great talent; that I 


Incredible audacity ! 


stand myself 




A very idol in the world of art. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


He taunts me also with the Mau- 


The heathen 


soleum 


Veiled their Diana with some 


Of Julius, still unfinished, for the 


drapery, 


reason 


And when they represented Venus 


That men persuaded the inane old 


naked 


man 


They made her by her modest at- 


It was of evil augury to build 


titude 


His tomb while he was living ; and 


Appear half clothed. But I, who 


he speaks 651 


am a Christian, 


Of heaps of gold this Pope be- 


Do so subordinate belief to art 


queathed to me, 


That I have made the very viola- 


And calls it robbery ; — that is 


tion 


what he says. 


Of modesty in martyrs and in vir- 
gins 
A spectacle at which all men 


What prompted such a letter ? 


BENVENUTO. 


would gaze 630 


Vanity. 


With half-averted eyes even in a 


He is a clever writer, and be likes 


brothel. 


To draw his pen, and flourish it in 




the face 


BENVENUTO. 


Of every honest man, as swords- 


He is at home there, and he ought 


men do 


to know 


Their rapiers on occasion, but to 


What men avert their eyes from in 


show 


such places ; 


How skilfully they do it. Had 


From the Last Judgment chiefly, I 


you followed 


imagine. 


The advice he gave, or even 




thanked him for it, 660 


MICHAEL, ANGELO. 


You would have seen another style 


But divine Providence will never 


of fence. 


leave 


'T is but his wounded vanity, and 


The boldness of my marvellous 


the wish 


work unpunished ; 


To see his name in print. So give 


And the more marvellous it is, the 


it not 


more 


A moment's thought ; it will soon 


'T is sure to prove the ruin of my 


be forgotten. 


fame! 




And finally, if in this composition 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


I had pursued the instructions 


I will not think of it, but let it 


that he gave me 640 


pass 


Concerning heaven and hell and 


For a rude speech thrown at me 


paradise, 


in the street, 


In that same letter, known to all 


As boys threw stones at Dante. 


the world, 




Nature would not be forced, as 


BENVENUTO. 


she is now, 


And what answer 


To feel ashamed that she invested 


Shall I take back to Grand Duke 


me 


Cosimo ? 



766 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



He does not ask your labor or your 


Men, women, and all animals that 


service ; 


breathe 690 


Only your presence in the city of 


Are statues and not paintings. 


Florence, 670 


Even the plants, 


With such advice upon his work in 


The flowers, the fruits, the 


hand 


grasses, were first sculp- 


As he may ask, and you may 


tured, 


choose to give. 


And colored later. Painting is a 

lie, 
A shadow merely. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


You have my answer. Nothing he 




can offer 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Shall tempt me to leave Kome. My 


Truly, as you say, 


work is here, 


Sculpture is more than painting. 


And only here, the building of St. 


It is greater 


Peter's. 


To raise the dead to life than to 


What other things I hitherto have 


create 


done 


Phantoms that seem to live. The 


Have fallen from me, are no longer 


most majestic 


mine; 


Of the three sister arts is that 


I have passed on beyond them, and 


which builds ; 


have left them 


The eldest of them all, to whom 


As milestones on the way. What 


the others 


lies before me, 


Are but the handmaids and the 


That is still mine, and while it is 


servitors, 700 


unfinished 680 


Being but imitation, not crea- 


No one shall draw me from it, or 


tion. 


persuade me, 


Henceforth I dedicate myself to 


By promises of ease, or wealth, 


her. 


or honor, 




Till I behold the finished dome up- 


BENVENUTO. 


rise 


And no more from the marble hew 


Complete, as now I see it in my 


those forms 


thought. 


That fill us all with wonder ? 


BENVENUTO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


And will you paint no more ? 


Many statues 




Will there be room for in my 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


work. Their station 


No more. 


Already is assigned them in my 




mind. 


BENVENUTO. 


But things move slowly. There 


'T is welh 


are hindrances, 


Sculpture is more divine, and more 


Want of material, want of means, 


like Nature, 


delays 


That fashions all her works in 


And interruptions, endless inter- 


high relief, 


ference 


And that is sculpture. This vast 


Of Cardinal Commissioners, and 


ball, the Earth, 


disputes 710 


Was -moulded out of clay, and 


And jealousies of artists, that an- 


baked in fire ; 


noy me. 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



767 



But I will persevere until the 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


work 


Aye, because 


Is wholly finished, or till I sink 


The marble is too hard. 


clown 




Surprised by Death, that unex- 


URBINO. 


pected guest, 


It is a block 


Who waits for no man's leisure, 


That Topolino sent you from Car- 


but steps in. 


rara. 730 


Unasked and unannounced, to put 


He is a judge of marble. 


a stop 




To all our occupations and de- 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


signs. 


I remember. 


And then perhaps I may go back 


"With it he sent me something of 


to Florence ; 


his making, — 


This is my answer to Duke Co- 


A Mercury, with long body and 


simo. 


short legs, 




As if by any possibility 




A messenger of the gods could 


VI 


have short legs. 




It was no more like Mercury than 


MICHAEL ANGELO'S STUDIO 


you are, 




But rather like those little plaster 


Michael Angelo and Urbino. 


figures 




That peddlers hawk about the 


Michael angelo, pausing in his 


villages 


work. 


As images of saints. But luck- 


Urbino, thou and I are both old 


ily 740 


men. 720 


For Topolino, there are many peo- 


My strength begins to fail me. 


ple 




Who see no difference between 


URBINO. 


what is best 


Eccellenza, 


And what is only good, or not even 


That is impossible. Do I not see 


good ; 


you 


So that poor artists stand in their 


Attack tbe marble blocks with the 


esteem 


same fury 


On the same level with the best, 


As twenty years ago ? 


or higher. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


URBINO. 


'T is an old, old habit. 


How Eccellenza laughed ! 


I must have learned it early from 




my nurse 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


At Setignano, tbe stone-mason's 


Poor Topolino ! 


wife ; 


All men are not born artists, nor 


For the first sounds I heard were 


will labor 


of the chisel 


jl'er make them artists. 


Chipping away the stone. 






URBINO. 


URBINO. 


No, ho more 


At every stroke 


Than Emperors, or Popes, or Car- 


JTou strike fire with your chisel. 


dinals. 



7 68 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



One must be chosen for it. I have 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


been 750 


Ay, it will make thee rich. Thou 


Your color-grinder six and twenty 


shalt not die 771 


years, 


A beggar in a hospital. 


And am not yet an artist. 






URBINO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Oh, Master I 


Some have eyes 




That see not ; but in every block 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


of marble 


I cannot have them with me on 


I see a statue, — see it as dis- 


the journey 


tinctly 


That I am undertaking. The last 


As if it stood before me shaped 


garment 


and perfect 


That men will make for me will 


In attitude and action. I have 

only 
To hew away the stone walls that 


have no pockets. 


urbino, kissing the hand of 


imprison 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


The lovely apparition, and reveal 

it 
To other eyes as mine already see 


My generous master ! 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


it. 


Hush! 


But I grow old and weak. What 




wilt thou do 760 


URBINO. 


When I am dead, Urbino ? 


My Providence ! 


URBINO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Eccellenza, 


Not a word more. Go now to bed, 


I must then serve another master. 


old man. 




Thou hast served Michael Angelo. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Kemember, 


Never ! 


Henceforward thou shalt serve no 


Bitter is servitude at best. Al- 


other master. 


ready 




So many years hast thou been 




serving me ; 


VII 


But rather as a friend than as a 




servant. 


THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA 


We have grown old together. 




Dost thou think 


Michael angelo, alone in the 


So meanly of this Michael Ange- 

lo 
As to imagine he would let thee 


woods. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


serve, 


How still it is among these an- 


When he is free from service? 


cient oaks ! 780 


Take this purse, # 


Surges and undulations of the air 


Two thousand crowns in gold. 


Uplift the leafy boughs, and let 




them fall 


URBINO. 


With scarce a sound. Such sylvan 


Two thousand crowns ! 


quietudes 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



769 



Become old age. These huge cen- 


Down sinks the sun, red as Apollo's 


tennial oaks, 


quoit, 8n 


That may have heard in infancy 


That, by the envious Zephyr blown 


the trumpets 


aside, 


Of Barbarossa's cavalry, deride 


Struck Hyacinthus dead, and 


Man's brief existence, that with all 


stained the earth 


his strength 


With his young blood, that blos- 


He cannot stretch beyond the 


somed into flowers. 


hundredth year. 


And now, instead of these fair dei- 


This little acorn, turbaned like the 


ties, 


Turk, 


Dread demons haunt the earth ; 


Which with my foot I spurn, may 


hermits inhabit 


be an oak 790 


The leafy homes of sylvan Hama- 


Hereafter, feeding with its bitter 


dryads ; 


mast 


And jovial friars, rotund and ru- 


The fierce wild-boar, and tossing 


bicund, 


in its arms 


Keplace the old Silenus with his 


The cradled nests of birds, when 


ass. 


all the men 




That now inhabit this vast uni- 


Here underneath these venerable 


verse, 


oaks, 820 


They and their children, and their 


Wrinkled and brown and gnarled 


children's children, 


like them with age, 


Shall be but dust and mould, and 


A brother of the monastery sits, 


nothing more. 


Lost in his meditations. What 


Through openings in the trees I 


may be 


see below me 


The questions that perplex, the 


The valley of Clitumnus, with its 


hopes that cheer him? — 


farms 


Good-evening, holy father. 


And snow-white oxen grazing in 




the shade 


MONK. 


Of the tall poplars on the river's 


God be with you. 


brink. 800 




Nature, gentle mother, tender 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


nurse ! 


Pardon a stranger if he interrupt 


I, who have never loved thee as I 


Your meditations. 


ought, 




But wasted all my years immured 


MONK. 


in cities, 


It was but a dream. — 


And breathed the stifling atmo- 


The old, old dream, that never will 


sphere of streets, 


come true ; 


Now come to thee for refuge. 


The dream that all my life I have 


Here is peace. 


been dreaming, 


Yonder I see the little hermitages 


And yet is still a dream. 


Dotting the mountain side with 




points of light, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


And here St. Julian's convent, like 


All men have dreams. 


a nest 


I have had mine ; but none of them 


Of curlews, clinging to some windy 


came true; 831 


cliff. 


They were but vanity. Sometimes 


Beyond the broad, illimitable plain 


I think 



770 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



The happiness of man lies in pur- 
suing, 

Not in possessing ; for the things 
possessed 

Lose half their value. Tell me of 
your dream. 

MONK. 

The yearning of my heart, my sole 
desire, 

That like the sheaf of Joseph 
stands upright, 

While all the others bend and bow 
to it; 

The passion that torments me, and 
that breathes 

New meaning into the dead forms 
of prayer, 840 

Is that with mortal eyes I may be- 
hold 

The Eternal City. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Rome? 

MONK. 

There is but one ; 
The rest are merely names. I 

think of it 
As the Celestial City, paved with 

gold, 
And sentinelled with angels. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Would it were. 

I have just fled from it. It is be- 
leaguered 

By Spanish troops, led by the 
Duke of Alva. 

MONK. 

But still for me 't is the Celestial 

City, 
And I would see it once before I 

die. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Each one must bear his cross. 

MONK. 

Were it a cross 



That had been laid upon me, I 
could bear it, 851 

Or fall with it. It is a crucifix ; 

I am nailed hand and foot, and I 
am dying ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What would you see in Rome ? 



His Holiness. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Him that was once the Cardinal 

Caraffa? 
You would but see a man of four- 

score years, 
With sunken eyes, burning like 

carbuncles, 
Who sits at table with his friends 

for hours, 
Cursing the Spaniards as a race of 

Jews 
And miscreant Moors. And with 

what soldiery 860 

Think you he now defends the 

Eternal City? 

MONK. 

With legions of bright angels. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

So he calls them ; 
And yet in fact these bright an- 

gelic legions 
Are only German Lutherans. 

monk, crossing himself. 

Heaven protect us ! 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 

What further would you see ? 

MONK. 

The Cardinals, 
Going in their gilt coaches to High 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Men do not go to Paradise in 
coaches. __ 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



771 



MONK. 


Where only there is peace. Go not 


The catacombs, the convents, and 


to Rome. 


the churches ; 


There was of old a monk of Wit- 


The ceremonies of the Holy Week 


tenberg 


In all their pomp, or, at the 


Who went to Eome ; you may have 


Epiphany, 870 


heard of him ; 890 


The feast of the Santissimo Bam- 


His name was Lxither; and you 


bino 


know what followed. 


At Ara Coeli. But I shall not see 


[The convent bell rings. 


them. 


monk, rising. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


It is the convent bell ; it rings for 


These pompous ceremonies of the 


vespers. 


Church 


Let us go in; we both will pray 


Are but an empty show to him who 


for peace. 


knows 




The actors in them. Stay here in 




your convent, 


VIII 


For he who goes to Rome may see 




too much. 


THE DEAD CHRIST 


What would you further ? 






Michael Angelo's Studio. 


MONK. 


Michael Angelo with a light, 


I would see the painting 


working upon the Bead Christ. 


Of the Last Judgment in the Sis- 


Midnight. 


tine Chapel. 






MICHAEL ANGELO. 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Death, why is it I cannot por- 


The smoke of incense and of altar 


tray 


candles 


Thy form and features? Do I 


Has blackened it already. 


stand too near thee ? 




Or dost thou hold my hand, and 


MONK. 


draw me back, 


Woe is me ! 


As being thy disciple, not thy 


Then I would hear Allegri's Mis- 


master? 


erere, 880 


Let him who knows not what old 


Sung by the Papal choir. 


age is like 




Have patience till it comes, and 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


he will know. 


A dismal dirge ! 


I once had skill to fashion Life and 


I am an old, old man, and I have 


Death goo 


lived 


And Sleep, which is the counter- 


In Eome for thirty years and more, 


feit of Death ; 


and know 


And I remember what Giovanni 


The jarring of the wheels of that 


Strozzi 


great world, 


Wrote underneath my statue of 


Its jealousies, its discords, and its 


the Night 


strife. 


In San Lorenzo, ah, so long ago ! 


Therefore I say to you, remain 


Grateful to me is sleep! More 


content 


grateful now 


Here in your convent, here among 


Than it was then ; for all my friends 


your woods, 


are dead ; 



772 



MICHAEL ANGELO 



And she is dead, the noblest of 


Giorgio Vasari , and you come to me 


them all. 


At an untimely hour. 


I saw her face, when the great 




sculptor Death, 


GIORGIO. 


Whom men should call Divine, had 


The Pope hath sent me. 


at a blow 


His Holiness desires to see again 


Stricken her into marble; and I 


The drawing you once showed him 


kissed 910 


of the dome 


Her cold white hand. "What was 


Of the Basilica. 


it held me back 




From kissing her fair forehead, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


and those lips, 


We will look for it. 


Those dead, dumb lips ? Grateful 




to me is sleep ! 


GIORGIO. 




What is the marble group that 


Enter Giorgio Vasari. 


glimmers there 930 




Behind you ? 


GIORGIO. 




Good-evening, or good-morning, for 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


I know not 


Nothing, and yet everything, — 


Which of the two it is. 


As one may take it. It is my own 




tomb 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


That I am building. 


How came you in ? 


GIORGIO. 


GIORGIO. 


Do not hide it from me. 


Why, by the door, as all men do. 


By our long friendship and the love 
I bear you, 


MICHAEL ANGELO. 


Eefuse me not ! 


Ascanio 


michael angelo, letting fall the 


Must have forgotten to bolt it. 


lamp. 




Life hath become to me 


GIORGIO. 


An empty theatre, — its lights ex- 


Probably. 


tinguished, 


Am I a spirit, or so like a spirit, 


The music silent, and the actors 


That I could slip through bolted 


gone ; 


door or window ? 


And I alone sit musing on the 


As I was passing down the street, 


scenes 


I saw 920 


That once have been. I am so old 


A glimmer of light, and heard the 


that Death 


well-known chink 


Oft plucks me by the cloak, to 


Of chisel upon marble. So I en- 


come with him ; 940 


tered, 


And some day, like this lamp, shall 


To see what keeps you from your 


I fall down, 


bed so late. 


And my last spark of life will be 




extinguished. 


Michael Angelo, coming for- 


Ah me ! ah me ! what darkness of 


ward with the lamp. 


despair ! 


You have been revelling with your 


So near to death, and yet so far 


boon companions, 


from God. 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



773 



TRANSLATIONS 



PRELUDE 

As treasures that men seek, 
Deep buried in sea-sands, 

Vanish if they but speak, 
And elude their eager hands, — 

So ye escape and slip, 
O songs, and fade away, 

When the word is on my lip 
To interpret what ye say. 

Were it not better, then, 
To let the treasures rest 

Hid from the eyes of men 
Locked in their iron chest ? 

I have but marked the place, 
But half the secret told, 

That, following this slight trace, 
Others may find the gold. 



FROM THE SPANISH 
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 

Oh let the soul her slumbers 

break, 
Let thought be quickened, and 

awake ; 
Awake to see 
How soon this life is past and 

gone, 
And death comes softly stealing 

on, 
How silently ! 

Swiftly our pleasures glide away, 
Our hearts recall the distant day 
With many sighs ; 
The moments that are speeding 

fast 10 

We heed not, but the past, — the 

past, 
■^lore highly prize. 



Onward its course the present 

keeps, 
Onward the constant current 

sweeps, 
Till life is done ; 

And, did we judge of time aright, 
The past and future in their flight 
Would be as one. 

Let no one fondly dream again, 
That Hope and all her shadowy 

train 20 

Will not decay ; 
Fleeting as were the dreams of 

old, 
Remembered like a tale that 's 

told, 
They pass away. 

Our lives are rivers, gliding free 
To that unfathomed, boundless 

sea, 
The silent grave ! 
Thither all earthly pomp and 

boast 
Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
In one dark wave. 30 

Thither the mighty torrents stray, 
Thither the brook pursues its way, 
And tinkling rill. 
There all are equal ; side by side 
The poor man and the son of pride 
Lie calm and still. 

I will not here invoke the throng 
Of orators and sons of song, 
The deathless few ; 
Fiction entices and deceives, 40 
And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant 

leaves, 
Lies poisonous dew. 

To One alone my thoughts arise, 
The Eternal Truth, the Good and 
Wise, 



774 



TRANSLATIONS 



To Him I cry, 


Kelentless sweeps the stroke of 


Who shared on earth our common 


fate; 


lot. 


The strongest fall. 


But the world comprehended not 




His deity. 


Tell me, the charms that lovers 




seek 


This world is but the rugged road 


In the clear eye and blushing 


Which leads us to the bright 


cheek, 


abode 50 


The hues that play 


Of peace above ; 


O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, 


So let us choose that narrow way, 


When hoary age approaches slow, 


Which leads no traveller's foot 


Ah, where are they ? 90 


astray 




From realms of love. 


The cunning skill, the curious arts, 




The glorious strength that youth 


Our cradle is the starting-place, 


imparts 


Life is the running of the race, 


In life's first stage ; 


We reach the goal 


These shall become a heavy 


When, in the mansions of the blest, 


weight, 


Death leaves to its eternal rest 


When Time swings wide his out- 


The weary soul. 60 


ward gate 




To weary age. 


Did we but use it as we ought, 




This world would school each wan- 


The noble blood of Gothic name, 


dering thought 


Heroes emblazoned high to fame, 


To its high state. 


In long array ; 


Faith wings the soul beyond the 


How, in the onward course of 


sky, 


time, 100 


Up to that better world on high, 


The landmarks of that race sub- 


For which we wait. 


lime 




Were swept away ! 


Yes, the glad messenger of love, 




To guide us to our home above, 


Some, the degraded slaves of lust, 


The Saviour came ; 


Prostrate and trampled in the 


Born amid mortal cares and fears, 


dust, 


He suffered in this vale of tears 71 


Shall rise no more ; 


A death of shame. 


Others, by guilt and crime, main. 

tain 
The scutcheon, that, without a 


Behold of what delusive worth 


The bubbles we pursue on earth, 


stain, 


The shapes we chase 


Their fathers bore. 


Amid a world of treachery ! 




They vanish ere death shuts the 


Wealth and the high estate of 


eye, 


pride, 


And leave no trace. 


With what untimely speed they 




glide, no 


Time steals them from us, chances 


How soon depart ! 


strange, 


Bid not the shadowy phantoms 


Disastrous accident, and change, 


stay, 


That comes to all ; 81 


The vassals of a mistress they, 


Even in the most exalted state, 


Of fickle heart. 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



775 



These gifts in Fortune's hands are 

found ; 
Her swift revolving wheel turns 

round, 
And they are gone ! 
No rest the inconstant goddess 

knows, 
But changing, and without repose, 
Still hurries on. 120 

Even could the hand of avarice 

save 
Its gilded hauhles, till the grave 
Beclaimed its prey, 
Let none on such poor hopes rely ; 
Life, like an empty dream, flits hy, 
And where are they? 

Earthly desires and sensual lust 
Are passions springing from the 

dust, 
They fade and die ; 
But, in the life beyond the tomb, 
They seal the immortal spirit's 

doom 131 

Eternally ! 

The pleasures and delights, which 

mask 
In treacherous smiles life's serious 

task, 
What are they all 
But the fleet coursers of the chase, 
And death an ambush in the race, 
Wherein we fall ? 

No foe, no dangerous pass, we 

heed, 
Brook no delay, but onward speed 
With loosened rein ; 141 

And, when the fatal snare is near, 
We strive to check our mad ca- 
reer, 
But strive in vain. 

Could we new charms to age im- 
part, 

And fashion with a cunning art 

The human face, 

As we can clothe the soul with 
light, 



And make the glorious spirit 

bright 
With heavenly grace, 150 

How busily each passing hour 
Should we exert that magic 

power ! 
What ardor show, 
To deck the sensual slave of sin, 
Yet leave the freeborn soul within, 
In weeds of woe ! 

Monarchs, the powerful and the 

strong, 
Famous in history and in song 
Of olden time, 
Saw, by the stern decrees of 

fate, 160 

Their kingdoms lost, and desolate 
Their race sublime. 

Who is the champion? who the 

strong ? 
Pontiff and priest, and sceptred 

throng? 
On these shall fall 
As heavily the hand of Death, 
As when it stays the shepherd's 

breath 
Beside his stall. 

I speak not of the Trojan name, 
Neither its glory nor its shame 170 
Has met our eyes ;• 
Nor of Eome's great and glorious 

dead, 
Though we have heard so oft, and 

read, 
Their histories. 

Little avails it now to know 
Of ages passed so long ago, 
Nor how they rolled ; 
Our theme shall be of yesterday, 
Which to oblivion sweeps away, 
Like days of old. 180 

Where is the King, Don Juan? 

Where 
Each royal prince and noble heir 
Of Aragon ? 



77 6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Where are the courtly gallantries ? 


She, that had been his friend be- 


The deeds of love and high em- 


fore, 


prise, 


Now from the fated monarch tore 


In battle done ? 


Her charms away. 


Tourney and joust, that charmed 


The countless gifts, the stately 


the eye, 


walls, 


And scarf, and gorgeous pano- 


The royal palaces, and halls, 


ply, 


All filled with gold ; 


And nodding plume, 


Plate with armorial bearings 


What were they but a pageant 


wrought, 220 


scene ? 190 


Chambers with ample treasures 


What but the garlands, gay and 


fraught 


green, 


Of wealth untold; 


That deck the tomb ? 






The noble steeds, and harness 


Where are the high-born dames, 


bright, 


and where 


And gallant lord, and stalwart 


Their gay attire, and jewelled hair, 


knight, 


And odors sweet? 


In rich array, 


Where are the gentle knights, that 


Where shall we seek them now? 


came 


Alas! 


To kneel, and breathe love's ar- 


Like the bright dewdrops on the 


dent flame, 


grass, 


Low at their feet ? 


They passed away. 


Where is the song of Trouba- 


His brother, too, whose factious 


dour? 


zeal 


Where are the lute and gay tam- 


Usurped the sceptre of Castile, 230 


bour 200 


Unskilled to reign ; 


They loved of yore ? 


What a gay, brilliant court had 


Where is the mazy dance of old, 


he, 


The flowing robes, inwrought with 


When all the flower of chivalry 


gold, 


Was in his train ! 


The dancers wore ? 






But he was mortal ; and the breath 


And he who next the sceptre 


That flamed from the hot forge of 


swayed, 


Death 


Henry, whose royal court dis- 


Blasted his years ; 


played 


Judgment of God! that flame by 


Such power and pride ; 


thee, 


Oh, in what winning smiles ar- 


When raging fierce and fearfully, 


rayed, 


Was quenched in tears ! 240 


The world its various pleasures 




laid 


Spain's haughty Constable, the true 


His throne beside ! 210 


And gallant Master, whom we 




knew 


But oh, how false and full of guile 


Most loved of all ; 


That world, which wore so soft a 


Breathe not a whisper of his pride, 


smile 


He on the gloomy scaffold died, 


But to betray ! 


Ignoble fall ! 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



777 



The countless treasures of his 

care, 
His villages and villas fair, 
His mighty power, 
What were they all but grief and 

shame, 250 

Tears and a broken heart, when 

came 
The parting hour ? 

His other brothers, proud and high, 

Masters, who, in prosperity, 

Might rival kings ; 

"Who made the bravest and the 
best 

The bondsmen of their high be- 
hest, 

Their underlings ; 

"What was their prosperous es- 
tate, 

When high exalted and elate 260 

With power and pride ? 

What, but a transient gleam of 
light, 

A flame, which, glaring at its 
height, 

Grew dim and died ? 

So many a duke of royal name, 

Marquis and count of spotless 
fame, 

And baron brave, 

That might the sword of empire 
wield, 

All these, O Death, hast thou con- 
cealed 

In the dark grave ! 270 

Their deeds of mercy and of arms, 
In peaceful days, or war's alarms, 
When thou dost show, 
O Death, thy stern and angry face, 
One stroke of thy all-powerful 

mace 
Can overthrow. 

Unnumbered hosts, that threaten 

nigh, 
' Pennon and standard flaunting 
high, 



And flag displayed ; 

High battlements intrenched 

around, 280 

Bastion, and moated wall, and 

mound, 
And palisade, 

And covered trench, secure and 

deep, 
All these cannot one victim keep, 
O Death, from thee, 
When thou dost battle in thy 

wrath, 
And thy strong shafts pursue their 

path 
Unerringly. 

O World! so few the years we 

live, 
Would that the life which thou 

dost give 290 

Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at 

last 
The soul is freed. 

Our days are covered o'er with 

grief, 
And sorrows neither few nor brief 
Veil all in gloom ; 
Left desolate of real good, 
Within this cheerless solitude 
No pleasures bloom. 300 

Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and 

fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 

Thy goods are bought with many 

a groan, 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
And weary hearts ; 
Fleet-footed is the approach of 

woe, 310 

But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form departs. 



778 



TRANSLATIONS 



And he, the good man's shield and 

shade, 
To whom all hearts their homage 

paid, 
As Virtue's son, 

Roderic Manrique, he whose name 
Is written on the scroll of Fame, 
Spain's champion ; 

His signal deeds and prowess high 
Demand no pompous eulogy, 320 
Ye saw his deeds ! 
Why should their praise in verse 

he sung ? 
The name, that dwells on every 

tongue, 
No minstrel needs. 

To friends a friend; how kind to 

all 
The vassals of this ancient hall 
And feudal fief ! 
To foes how stern a foe was 

he! 
And to the valiant and the free 
How brave a chief ! 330 

What prudence with the old and 

wise: 
What grace in youthful gayeties ; 
In all how sage ! 
Benignant to the serf and slave, 
He showed the base and falsely 

brave 
A lion's rage. 

His was Octavian's prosperous 

star, 
The rush of Caesar's conquering 

car 
At battle's call ; 

His, Scipio's virtue ; his, the skill 
And the indomitable will 341 

Of Hannibal. 

His was a Trajan's goodness, his 

A Titus' noble charities 

And righteous laws ; 

The arm of Hector, and the might 

Of Tully, to maintain the right 

In truth's just cause ; 



The clemency of Antonine, 

Aurelius' countenance divine, 350 

Firm, gentle, still ; 

The eloquence of Adrian, 

And Theodosius' love to man, 

And generous will ; 

In tented field and bloody fray, 
An Alexander's vigorous sway 
And stern command ; 
The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 
The fervent love Camillas bore 
His native land. 360 

He left no well-filled treasury, 
He heaped no pile of riches high, 
Nor massive plate ; 
He fought the Moors, and, in their 

fall, 
City and tower and castled wall 
Were his estate. 

Upon the hard -fought battle- 
ground, 

Brave steeds and gallant riders 
found 

A common grave ; 

And there the warrior's hand did 
gain 370 

The rents, and the long vassal 
train, 

That conquest gave. 

And if of old his halls displayed 
The honored and exalted grade 
His worth had gained, 
So, in the dark, disastrous hour, 
Brothers and bondsmen of his 

power 
His hand sustained. 

After high deeds, not left un- 
told, 

In the stern warfare which of 
old 380 

'T was his to share, 

Such noble leagues he made that 
more 

And fairer regions than before 

His guerdon were. 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 



779 



These are the records, half effaced, 
"Which, with the hand of youth, he 

traced 
On history's page ; 
But with fresh victories he drew 
Each fading character anew 
In his old age. 390 

By his unrivalled skill, by great 
And veteran service to the state, 
By worth adored, 
He stood, in his high dignity, 
The proudest knight of chivalry, 
Knight of the Sword. 

He found his cities and domains 

Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 

And cruel power; 

But, by fierce battle and block- 
ade, 400 

Soon his own banner was dis- 
played 

From every tower. 

By the tried valor of his hand, 
His monarch and his native land 
Were nobly served ; 
Let Portugal repeat the story. 
And proud Castile, who shared the 

glory 
His arms deserved. 

And when so oft, for weal or woe, 
His life upon the fatal throw 410 
Had been cast down ; 
When he had served, with patriot 

zeal, 
Beneath the banner of Castile, 
His sovereign's crown ; 

And done such deeds of valor 

strong, 
That neither history nor song 
Can count them all ; 
Then, on Ocana's castled rock, 
Death at his portal came to knock, 
With sudden call, 420 

Saying, ' Good Cavalier, prepare 
To leave this world of toil and 



With joyful mien ; 

Let thy strong heart of steel this 

day 
Put on its armor for the fray, 
The closing scene. 

' Since thou hast been, in battle- 
strife, 

So prodigal of health and life, 

For earthly fame, 

Let virtue nerve thy heart 
again ; 43 o 

Loud on the last stern battle- 
plain 

They call thy name. 

' Think not the struggle that draws 

near 
Too terrible for man, nor fear 
To meet the foe ; 
Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, 
Its life of glorious fame to leave 
On earth below. 

' A life of honor and of worth 
Has no eternity on earth, 440 

'T is but a name ; 
And yet its glory far exceeds 
That base and sensual life, which 

leads 
To want and shame. 

* The eternal life, beyond the sky, 
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the 

high 
And proud estate ; 
The soul in dalliance laid, the 

spirit 
Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit 
A joy so great. 450 

' But the good monk, in cloistered 

cell, 
Shall gain it by his book and 

bell, 
His prayers and tears ; 
And the brave knight, whose arm 

endures 
Fierce battle, and against the 

Moors 
His standard rears. 



780 



TRANSLATIONS 



1 And thou, brave knight, whose 

hand has poured 
The life-blood of the Pagan horde 
O'er all the land, 
In heaven shalt thou receive, at 

length, 460 

The guerdon of thine earthly 

strength 
And dauntless hand. 

' Cheered onward by this promise 

sure, 
Strong in the faith entire and pure 
Thou dost profess, 
Depart, thy hope is certainty, 
The third, the better life on high 
Shalt thou possess.' 

'O Death, no more, no more delay; 

My spirit longs to flee away, 470 

And be at rest ; 

The will of Heaven my will shall be, 

I bow to the divine decree, 

To God's behest. 

' My soul is ready to depart, 

No thought rebels, the obedient 

heart 
Breathes forth no sigh ; 
The wish on earth to linger still 
Were vain, when 't is God's sov- 
ereign will 
That we shall die. 480 

' O thou, that for our sins didst take 
A human form, and humbly make 
Thy home on earth ; 
Thou, that to thy divinity 
A human nature didst ally 
By mortal birth, 

' And in that form didst suffer here 
Torment, and agony, and fear, 
So patiently ; 

By thy redeeming grace alone, 490 
And not for merits of my own, 
Oh, pardon me ! ' 

As thus the dying warrior prayed, 
Without one gathering mist or 
shade 



Upon his mind ; 
Encircled by his family, 
Watched by affection's gentle eye 
So soft and kind ; 

His soul to Him who gave it rose ; 
God lead it to its long repose, 500 
Its glorious rest ! 
And, though the warrior's sun has 

set, 
Its light shall linger round us yet, 
Bright, radiant, blest. 



SONNETS 



THE GOOD SHEPHEKD 

(El Buen Pastor.) 

BY LOPE DE VEGA 

Shephekd ! who with thine amo- 
rous, sylvan song 
Hast broken the slumber that 

encompassed me, 
Who mad 'st thy crook from the 

accursed tree, 
On which thy powerful arms 

were stretched so long ! 
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing 

fountains ; 
For thou my shepherd, guard, 

and guide shalt be ; 
I will obey thy voice, and wait 

to see 
Thy feet all beautiful upon the 

mountains. 
Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy 

flock art dying, 
Oh, wash away these scarlet 

sins, for thou 
Kejoicest at the contrite sinner's 

vow. 
Oh, wait ! to thee my weary soul 

Is crying, 
Wait for me ! Yet why ask it, 

when I see, 
With feet nailed to the cross, 

thou 'rt waiting still for me ! 



THE IMAGE OF GOD 



781 



II 


Mansion of truth ! without a veil 




or shade, 


TO-MORROW 


Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's 


(Manana.) 


eye. 
There dwells the soul in its ethe- 


BY LOPE DE VEGA 


real essence, 
Gasping no longer for life's fee- 


Lord, what am I, that, with un- 


ble breath ; 


ceasing care, 


But, sentinelled in heaven, its 


Thou didst seek after me, that 


glorious presence 


thou didst wait, 


With pitying eye beholds, yet 


Wet with unhealthy dews, be- 


fears not, death. 


fore my gate, 


Beloved country! banished from 


And pass the gloomy nights of 


thy shore, 


winter there ? 


A stranger in this prison-house 


Oh, strange delusion, that I did 


of clay, 


not greet 


The exiled spirit weeps and 


Thy blest approach ! and oh, to 


sighs for thee ! 


Heaven how lost, 


Heavenward the bright perfec- 


If my ingratitude's unkindly 


tions I adore 


frost 


Direct, and the sure promise 


Has chilled the bleeding wounds 


cheers the way, 


upon thy feet ! 


That, whither love aspires, there 


How oft my guardian angel gently 


shall my dwelling be. 


cried. 




'Soul, from thy casement look, 




and thou shalt see 


IV 


How he persists to knock and 




wait for thee ! ' 


THE IMAGE OF GOD 


And, oh ! how often to that voice 




of sorrow, 


(La Imagen de Dios.) 


'To-morrow we will open,' I re- 




plied, 


BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 


And when the morrow came 




I answered still, 'To-mor- 


Lord ! who seest, from yon 


row.' 


starry height, 




Centred in one the future and 




the past, 




Fashioned in thine own image, 


Ill 


see how fast 




The world obscures in me what 


THE NATIVE LAND 


once was bright ! 


(El Patbio Cielo.) 


Eternal Sun! the warmth which 




thou hast given, 


BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 


To cheer life's flowery April, fast 




decays ; 


Clear fount of light ! my native 


Yet, in the hoary winter of my 


land on high, 


days, 


Bright with a glory that shall 


Forever green shall be my trust 


never fade J 


in Heaven. 



782 



TRANSLATIONS 



Celestial King ! oh let thy presence 

pass 
Before my spirit, and. an image 

fair 
Shall meet that look of mercy 

from on high, 
As the reflected image in a glass 
Doth meet the look of him who 

seeks it there, 
And owes its heing to the gazer's 

eye. 



V 
THE BROOK 

(A UN Areotuelo.) 
ANONYMOUS 

Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of 

bird and tree ! 
Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of 

the morn ! 
The soul of April, unto whom 

are born 
The rose and jessamine, leaps 

wild in thee ! 
Although, where'er thy devious 

current strays, 
The lap of earth with gold and 

silver teems, 
To me thy clear proceeding 

brighter seems 
Than golden sands, that charm 

each shepherd's gaze. 
How without guile thy bosom, all 

transparent 
As the pure crystal, lets the cu- 
rious eye 
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, 

round pebbles count ! 
How, without malice murmuring, 

glides thy current ! 
O sweet simplicity of days gone 

by! 
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, 

to dwell in limpid fount ! 



ANCIENT SPANISH BAL- 
LADS 



Rio Verde, Rio Verde ! 

Many a corpse is bathed in thee, 
Both of Moors and eke of Chris- 
tians, 

Slain with swords most cruelly. 

And thy pure and crystal waters 
Dappled are with crimson gore ; 

For between the Moors and Chris- 
tians 

• Long has been the fight and 
sore. 

Dukes and counts fell bleeding 
near thee, 

Lords of high renown were slain, 
Perished many a brave hidalgo 

Of the noblemen of Spain. 



' King Alfonso the Eighth, having ex- 
hausted his treasury in war, wishes to 
lay a tax of five farthings upon each 
of the Castilian hidalgos, in order to 
defray the expenses of a journey from 
Burgos to Cuenca. This proposition of 
the king was met with disdain by the 
noblemen who had been assembled on 
the occasion.' 

Don Nuno, Count of Lara, 

In anger and in pride, 
Forgot all reverence for the king, 

And thus in wrath replied : 

1 Our noble ancestors,' quoth he, 
' Ne'er such a tribute paid ; 

Nor shall the king receive of us 
What they have once gainsaid 

' The base-born soul who deems is 
just 

May here with thee remain ; 
But follow me, ye cavaliers, 

Ye noblemen of Spain.' 



ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS 



783 



Forth followed they the noble 
Count, 
They marched to Glera's plain ; 
Out of three thousand gallant 
knights 
Did only three remain. 

They tied the tribute to their 
spears, 
They raised it in the air, 
And they sent to tell their lord 
the king 
That his tax was ready there. 

'He may send and take by force,' 
said they, 

4 This paltry sum of gold ; 
But the goodly gift of liberty 

Cannot be bought and sold.' 

in 

4 One of the finest of the historic bal- 
lads is that which describes Bernardo's 
march to Roncesvalles. He sallies 
forth "with three thousand Leonese 
and more," to protect the glory and 
freedom of his native land. From all 
sides, the peasantry of the land flock 
to the hero's standard.' 

The peasant leaves his plough 
afield, 
The reaper leaves his hook, 
And from his hand the shepherd- 
boy 
Lets fall the pastoral crook. 

The young set up a shout of joy, 
The old forget their years, 

The feeble man grows stout of 
heart, 
No more the craven fears. 

All rush to Bernard's standard, 
And on liberty they call ; 

They cannot brook to wear the 
yoke, 
When threatened by the Gaul. 



4 Free were we born,' 't is thus they 
cry, 

* And willingly pay we 
The duty that we owe our king, 

By the divine decree. 

4 But God forbid that we obey 
The laws of foreign knaves, 

Tarnish the glory of our sires, 
And make our children slaves. 

4 Our hearts have not so craven 
grown, 

So bloodless all our veins, 
So vigorless our brawny arms, 

As to submit to chains. 

4 Has the audacious Frank, for- 
sooth, 

Subdued these seas and lands? 
Shall he a bloodless victory have? 

No, not while we have hands. 

' He shall learn that the gallant 
Leonese 
Can bravely fight and fall, 
But that they know not how to 
yield ; 
They are Castilians all. 

' Was it for this the Eoman pow- 
er 

Of old was made to yield 
Unto Numantia's valiant hosts 

On many a bloody field ? 

4 Shall the bold lions that have 
bathed 

Their paws in Libyan gore, 
Crouch basely to a feebler foe, 

And dare the strife no more ? 

4 Let the false king sell town and 
tower, 

But not his vassals free ; 
For to subdue the free-born soul 

No royal power hath he ! ' 



784 TRANSLATIONS 



VIDA DE SAN MILLAN 
BY GONZALO DE BERCEO 

And when the kings were in the field, — their squadrons in array, — 
With lance in rest they onward pressed to mingle in the fray ; 
But soon upon the Christians fell a terror of their foes, — 
These were a numerous army, — a little handful those. 

And while the Christian people stood in this uncertainty, 

Upward to heaven they turned their eyes, and fixed their thoughts on 

high; 
And there two figures they beheld, all beautiful and bright, 
Even than the pure new-fallen snow their garments were more white. 

They rode upon two horses more white than crystal sheen, 
And arms they bore such as before no mortal man had seen; 
The one, he held a crosier, — a pontiff's mitre wore ; 
The other held a crucifix, — such man ne'er saw before. 

Their faces were angelical, celestial forms had they, — 
And downward through the fields of air they urged their rapid way ; 
They looked upon the Moorish host with fierce and angry look, 
And in their hands, with dire portent, their naked sabres shook. 

The Christian host, beholding this, straightway take heart again ; 
They fall upon their bended knees, all resting on the plain, 
And each one with his clenched fist to smite his breast begins, 
And promises to God on high he will forsake his sins. 

And when the heavenly knights drew near unto the battle-ground, 
They dashed among the Moors and dealt unerring blows around ; 
Such deadly havoc there they made the foremost ranks along, 
A panic terror spread unto the hindmost of the throng. 

Together with these two good knights, the champions of the sky, 
The Christians rallied and began to smite full sore and high ; 
The Moors raised up their voices and by the Koran swore 
That in their lives such deadly fray they ne'er had seen before. 

Down went the misbelievers, — fast sped the bloody fight, — 

Some ghastly and dismembered lay, and some half dead with fright ; 

Full sorely they repented that to the field they came, 

For they saw that from the battle they should retreat with shame. 

Another thing befell them, — they dreamed not of such woes,— 
The very arrows that the Moors shot from their twanging bows 
Turned back against them in their flight and wounded them full sore, 
And every blow they dealt the foe was paid in drops of gore. 



SAN MIGUEL, THE CONVENT 785 

Now he that bore the crosier, and the papal crown had on, 
Was the glorified Apostle, the brother of Saint John ; 
And he that held the crucifix, and wore the monkish hood, 
Was the holy San Millan of Cogolla's neighborhood. 



SAN MIGUEL, THE CONVENT 
(San Miguel de la Tumba) 
BY GONZALO DE BERCEO 

San Miguel de la Tumba is a convent vast and wide ; 
The sea encircles it around, and groans on every side : 
It is a wild and dangerous place, and many woes betide 
The monks who in that burial-place in penitence abide. 

Within those dark monastic walls, amid the ocean flood, 
Of pious, fasting monks there dwelt a holy brotherhood ; 
To the Madonna's glory there an altar high was placed, 
And a rich and costly image the sacred altar graced. 

Exalted high upon a throne, the Virgin Mother smiled, 
And, as the custom is, she held within her arms the Child ; 
The kings and wise men of the East were kneeling by her side; 
Attended was she like a queen whom God had sanctified. 

Descending low before her face a screen of feathers hung, — 

A moscader, or fan for flies, 't is called in vulgar tongue ; 

From the feathers of the peacock's wing 't was fashioned bright and 

fair, 
And glistened like the heaven above when all its stars are there. 

It chanced that, for the people's sins, fell the lightning's blasting 

stroke : 
Forth from all four the sacred walls the flames consuming broke ; 
The sacred robes were all consumed, missal and holy book ; 
And hardly with their lives the monks their crumbling walls forsook. 

But though the desolating flame raged fearfully and wild, 
It did not reach the Virgin Queen, it did not reach the Child; 
It did not reach the feathery screen before her face that shone, 
Nor injure in a farthing's worth the image or the throne. 

The image it did not consume, it did not burn the screen ; 
Even in the value of a hair they were not hurt, I ween ; 
Not even the smoke did reach them, nor injure more the shrine 
Than the bishop hight Don Tello has been hurt by hand of mine. 



786 



TRANSLATIONS 



SONG 


I was lapped in rest and slumber, 




Ye have made me wakeful, wistful ! 


She is a maid of artless grace, 


In this life of labor endless 


Gentle in form, and fair of face. 


Who shall comfort my distresses ? 




Querulous my soul and friendless 


Tell me, thou ancient mariner, 


In its sorrow shuns caresses. 


That sailest on the sea, 


Ye have made me, ye have made 


If ship, or sail, or evening star 


me 


Be half so fair as she ! 


Querulous of you, that care not, 




Eyes so tristful, yet I dare not 


Tell me, thou gallant cavalier, 


Say to what ye have betrayed me. 


Whose shining arms I see, 




If steel, or sword, or battle-field 




Be half so fair as she ! 


ii 




SOME DAY, SOME DAY 


Tell me, thou swain, that guard'st 




thy flock 


(Alguna Vez) 


Beneath the shadowy tree, 
If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge 


BY CEIST6BAB DE GASTILLEJO 


Be half so fair as she ! 


Some day, some day, 




troubled breast, 




Shalt thou find rest. 


SANTA TERESA'S BOOK- 


If Love in thee 


MAEK 


To grief give birth, 


(Letrilla que llevaba por Registbio 
en stj bbeviabio) 


Six feet of earth 
Can more than he ; 




There calm and free 


BY SANTA TEBESA DE AVILA 


And unoppressed 




Shalt thou find rest. 


Let nothing disturb thee, 




Nothing affright thee ; 


The unattained 


All things are passing ; 


In life at last, 


God never changeth : 


When life is passed, 


Patient endurance 


Shall all be gained ; 


Attaineth to all things ; 


And no more pained, 


Who God possesseth 


No more distressed, 


In nothing is wanting ; 


Shalt thou find rest. 


Alone God sufficeth. 




FROM THE CANCIONEROS 


in 
COME, DEATH, SO SILENT 


I 


FLYING 


EYES SO TRISTFUL, EYES SO 


(Ven, Muerte tan escondida) 


TRISTFUL 


BY EL COMMENDADOR ESCRIVA 


(Ojos Tbistes, Ojos Tbistes) 


Come, Death, so silent flying 


BY DIEGO DE SALDA^A 


That unheard thy coming be, 




Lest the sweet delight of dying 


Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 


Bring life back again to me. 


Heart so full of care and cumber, 


For thy sure approach perceiving, 



PASSAGES FROM FRITHIOF'S SAGA 



787 



In my constancy and pain 
I new life should win again, 
Thinking that I am not living. 
So to me, unconscious lying, 
All unknown thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life hack again to me. 
Unto him who finds thee hateful, 
Death, thou art inhuman pain ; 
But to me, who dying gain, 
Life is but a task ungrateful. 
Come, then, with my wish comply- 
ing, 
All unheard thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life back again to me. 



GLOVE OF BLACK IN WHITE 
HAND BARE 

Glove of black in white hand 

bare, 
And about her forehead pale 
Wound a thin, transparent veil, 
That doth not conceal her hair ; 
Sovereign attitude and air, 
Cheek and neck alike displayed, 
With coquettish charms arrayed, 
Laughing eyes and fugitive ; — 
This is killing men that live, 
'T is not mourning for the dead. 



FROM THE SWEDISH AND DANISH 
PASSAGES FKOM FKITHIOF'S SAGA 

BY ESAIAS TEGNER 



FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD 

Three miles extended around the fields of the homestead, on three 

sides 
Valleys and mountains and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean. 
Birch woods crowned the summits, but down the slope of the hillsides 
Flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye-field. 
Lakes, full many in number, their mirror held up for the mountains, 
Held for the forests up, in whose depths the high-horned reindeers 
Had their kingly walk, and drank of a hundred brooklets. 
But in the valleys widely around, there fed on the greensward 
Herds with shining hides and udders that longed for the milk-pail. 9 
'Mid these scattered, now here and now there, were numberless flocks of 
Sheep with fleeces white, as thou seest the white-looking stray clouds, 
Flock-wise spread o'er the heavenly vault, when it bloweth in spring- 
time. 
Coursers two times twelve, all mettlesome, fast fettered storm-winds, 
Stamping stood in the line of stalls, and tugged at their fodder. 
Knotted with red were their manes, and their hoofs all white with steel 

shoes. 
Th' banquet-hall, a house by itself, was timbered of hard fir. 
Not five hundred men (at ten times twelve to the hundred) 
Filled up the roomy hall, when assembled for drinking, at Yule-tide. 
Thorough the hall, as long as it was, went a table of holm-oak, 



TRANSLATIONS 



Polished and white, as of steel ; the columns twain of the High-seat 20 
Stood at the end thereof, two gods carved out of an elm-tree ; 
Odin with lordly look, and Frey with the sun on his frontlet. 
Lately between the two, on a bear-skin (the skin it was coal-black, 
Scarlet-red was the throat, but the paws were shodclen with silver), 
Thorsten sat with his friends, Hospitality sitting with Gladness. 
Oft, when the moon through the cloud-rack flew, related the old man 
Wonders from distant lands he had seen, and cruises of Vikings 
Far away on the Baltic, and Sea of the West, and the White Sea. 
Hushed sat the listening bench, and their glances hung on the gray- 
beard's 
Lips, as a bee on the rose ; but the Scald was thinking of Brage, 30 
Where, with his silver beard, and runes on his tongue, he is seated 
Under the leafy beech, and tells a tradition by Mimer's 
Ever-murmuring wave, himself a living tradition. 
Midway the floor (with thatch was it strewn) burned ever the fire- 
flame 
Glad on its stone-built hearth; and thorough the wide-mouthed 

smoke-flue 
Looked the stars, those heavenly friends, down into the great hall. 
Round the walls, upon nails of steel, were hanging in order 
Breastplate and helmet together, and here and there among them 
Downward lightened a sword, as in winter evening a star shoots. 
More than helmets and swords the shields in the hall were resplen- 
dent, 40 
White as the orb of the sun, or white as the moon's disk of silver. 
Ever and anon went a maid round the board, and filled up the drink- 
horns, 
Ever she cast down her eyes and blushed ; in the shield her reflection 
Blushed, too, even as she ; this gladdened the drinking champions. 

II 

A SLEDGE-RIDE ON THE ICE 

King Ring with his queen to the banquet did fare, 
On the lake stood the ice so mirror-clear. 

* Fare not o'er the ice,' the stranger cries ; 

' It will burst, and full deep the cold bath lies.' 

' The king drowns not easily,' Ring outspake ; 

' He who 's afraid may go round the lake.' 50 

Threatening and dark looked the stranger round, 
His steel shoes with haste on his feet he bound. 

The sledge-horse starts forth strong and free ; 
He snorteth flames, so glad is he. 

' Strike out,' screamed the king, ' my trotter good, 
Let us see if thou art of Sleipner's blood.' 



PASSAGES FROM FRITHIOF'S SAGA 789 



They go as a storm goes over the lake, 

No heed to his queen doth the old man take. 

But the steel-shod champion standeth not still, 
He passeth them by as swift as he will. 

He carves many runes in the frozen tide, 
Fair Ingeborg o'er her own name doth glide. 



ni 

FRITHIOF'S TEMPTATION 

Spring is coming, birds are twittering, forests leaf, and smiles the sun, 
And the loosened torrents downward, singing, to the ocean run ; 
Glowing like the cheek of Freya, peeping rosebuds 'gin to ope, 
And in human hearts awaken love of life, and joy, and hope. 

Now will hunt the ancient monarch, and the queen shall join the sport : 
Swarming in its gorgeous splendor, is assembled all the court ; 
Bows ring loud, and quivers rattle, stallions paw the ground alway, 
And, with hoods upon their eyelids, scream the falcons for their prey. 70 

See, the Queen of the chase advances ! Frithiof, gaze not at the sight.' 
Like a star upon a spring-cloud sits she on her palfrey white. 
Half of Freya, half of Bota, yet more beauteous than these two, 
And from her light hat of purple wave aloft the feathers blue. 

Gaze not at her eyes' blue heaven, gaze not at her golden hair ! 
Oh beware ! her waist is slender, full her bosom is, beware ! 
Look not at the rose and lily on her cheek that shifting play, 
List not to the voice beloved, whispering like the wind of May. 

Now the huntsman's band is ready. Hurrah ! over hill and dale ! 
Horns ring, and the hawks right upward to the hall of Odin sail. 80 
All the dwellers in the forest seek in fear their cavern homes, 
But, with spear outstretched before her, after them the Valkyr comes. 

Then threw Frithiof down his mantle, and upon the greensward spread, 
And the ancient king so trustful laid on Frithiof's knee his head, 
Slept as calmly as the hero sleepeth, after war's alarm, 
On his shield, or as an infant sleeps upon its mother's arm. 

As he slumbers, hark ! there sings a coal-black bird upon the bough ; 
4 Hasten, Frithiof. slay the old man, end your quarrel at a blow: 
Take his queen, for she is thine, and once the bridal kiss she gave, 
Now no human eye beholds thee, deep and silent is the grave.' 90 

Frithiof listens; hark! there sings a snow-white bird upon the bough: 
' Though no human eye beholds thee, Odin's eye beholds thee now. 
Coward ! wilt thou murder sleep, and a defenceless old man slay ! 
Whatsoe'er thou winn'st, thou caast not win a hero's fame this way.' 



790 TRANSLATIONS 



Thus the two wood-birds did warble: Frithiof took his war-sword goodj 
With a shudder hurled it from him, far into the gloomy wood. 
Coal-black bird flies down to Nastrand, but on light, unfolded wings, 
Like the tone of harps, the other, sounding towards the sun, upsprings. 

Straight the ancient king awakens. ' Sweet has been my sleep,' he 

said; 
'Pleasantly sleeps one in the shadow, guarded by a brave man's 

blade. ioo 

But where is thy sword, O stranger? Lightning's brother, where is he? 
Who thus parts you, who should never from each other parted be ! ' 

1 It avails not,' Frithiof answered ; ' in the North are other swords : 
Sharp, O monarch ! is the sword's tongue, and it speaks not peaceful 

words ; 
Murky spirits dwell in steel blades, spirits from the Niffelhem; 
Slumber is not safe before them, silver locks but anger them.' 



IV 

FRITHIOF'S FAREWELL 

No more shall I see 

In its upward motion 

The smoke of the Northland. Man is a slave : 

The fates decree. 

On the waste of the ocean 

There is my fatherland, there is my grave. 

Go not to the strand, 

Ring, with thy bride, 

After the stars spread their light through the sky. 

Perhaps in the sand, 

Washed up by the tide, 

The bones of the outlawed Viking may lie. 

Then, quoth the king, 
1 'T is mournful to hear 
A man like a whimpering maiden cry. 
The death-song they sing 
Even now in mine ear. 
What avails it ? He who is born must die.' 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 

BY ESAIAS TEGNER, 

Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village 
Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the spire of the belfry, 
Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun 
Glanced like the tongues of lire, beheld by Apostles aforetime. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 791 



Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with 

roses, 
Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brook- 
let 
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace ! with lips rosy-tinted 
Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches 
Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest. 
Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven 
arbor 10 

Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon each cross of iron 
Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection. 
Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed, 
(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with 

blossoms. 
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet, 
Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children, 
So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron 
Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes, 
While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet. 
Also the church within was adorned, for this was the season 20 

When the young, their parents' hope, and the loved-ones of heaven, 
Should at the foot of tlie altar renew the vows of their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust 

was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. 
There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast of the Leafy Pavil- 
ions 
Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall 
Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed 

with silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. 30 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg, 
Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work. 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling, 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. 

Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. 
Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones of the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle, 40 

So cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with one voice 
Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal 
Of the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the North-land 
Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its mighty pinions 
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, 
And each face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor. 
Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher. 



792 TRANSLATIONS 



Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a Christianly plainness 
Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. 
Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel 50 

Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur 
Lay on his forehead as clear as on moss-covered gravestone a sun- 
beam. 
As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly 
Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) 
Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, 
Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man ; 
Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. 
All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered. 
But with a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old man 
Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel. 60 

Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service, 
Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. 
Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came, 
Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. 
Then, when all was finished, the Teacher reentered the chancel, 
Followed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their 

places, 
Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming. 
But on the left of these there stood the tremulous lilies, 
Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens, — 
Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pave- 
ment. 70 
Now came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the begin- 
ning 
Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old 

man's 
Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal 
Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted. 
Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Ee- 

deemer, 
Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied. 
Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them, 
And to the children explained the holy, the highest, in few words, 
Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple, 
Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning. 80 

E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Springtide approaches, 
Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed by the radiant sunshine, 
Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom 
Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes, 
So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation, 
Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers 
Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer. 

Now went the old man up to the altar; — and straightway trans- 
figured 
ISo did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 793 

Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judg- 
ment 90 

Stood he, the God - commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward de- 
scending. 

Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts that to him were transparent 

Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off. 

So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he ques- 
tioned. 

' This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered, 
This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, wbile still ye 
Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven, 
Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom ; 
Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendor 
Downward rains from the heaven ; — to-day on the threshold of child- 
hood 100 
Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election, 
For she knows naught of compulsion, and only conviction desireth. 
This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, 
Seed for the coming days ; without revocation departeth 
Now from your lips the confession. Bethink ye, before ye make 

answer ! 
Think not, oh think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher. 
Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood. 
Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; the multitude hears you, 
Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy 
Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge everlasting no 
Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside him 
Grave your confession in letters of fire upon tablets eternal. 
Thus, then, — believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created? 
Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united? 
Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to cherish 
God more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother ? 
Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your living, 
Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, 
Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness ? 
Will ye promise me this before God and man ? ' — With a clear 
voice 120 

Answered the young men Yes ! and Yes ! with lips softly-breathing 
Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the 

Teacher 
Clouds with the lightnings therein, and he spake in accents more gen- 
tle, 
Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers. 

• Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of heaven be ye wel- 
come ! 
Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters ! 
Yet, — for what reason not children ? Of such is the kingdom of hea- 
ven. 
Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father, 



794 TRANSLATIONS 



Billing them all as his household, — forgiving in turn and chastising, 
That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. 130 

Blest are the pure before God ! Upon purity and upon virtue 
Besteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on high is descended. 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, 
Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for. 
Oh, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylum 
Downward, and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley, 
Oh, how soon will ye come, —too soon!— and long to turn back- 
ward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where Judgment 
Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother, 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven, 140 

Life was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven ! 
Seventy years have I lived already ; the Father eternal 
Gave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest hours of existence, 
When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known 

them, 
Known them all again ; — they were my childhood's acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's 

childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roaring billows 
Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleep- 
ing. 150 
Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; in the desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her ; she herself knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows faithful and humble, 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; oh do not reject her, 
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. 
Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flieth incessant 
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. 
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit 
Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward. 
Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions, 160 
Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the 

flowerets, 
Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. 
Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and homesick for heaven 
Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's longings are worship ; 
Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty 
Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, 
Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard, 
Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrowing children 
Turns He ne'er from his door, but He heals and helps and consoles 

them. 
Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us, 170 
Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune 
Kneels before the Eternal's throne ; and with hands interfolded, 
Raises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 795 

Or do ye know, ye children, one blessiug that conies not from Heaven? 
What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has not received ? 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs adoring 
Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of Him who 
Hung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world He created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory. 
Kaces blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, 180 

Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke of midnight, millen- 
niums 
Lay themselves down at his feet, and He sees them, hut counts them 

as nothing. 
"Who shall stand in his presence ? The wrath of the Judge is terrific, 
Casting the insolent down at a glance. When He speaks in his anger 
Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck. 
Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful avenger, 
Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in the earthquake, 
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. 
Love is the root of creation ; God's essence ; worlds without number 
Lie in his bosom like children; He made them for this purpose 
only. 190 

Only to love and to be loved again, He breathed forth his spirit 
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its 
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. 
Quench, oh quench not that flame ! It is the breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father nor mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 't was that you may be happy 
Gave He his only Son. When He bowed down his head in the death- 
hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then was completed. 
Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising 200 
Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other 
Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma, — Atone« 

ment ! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father; 
Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that loveth is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy 

brethren ; 
One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead? 210 
Keadest thou not in his face thine origin ? Is he not sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided 
By the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy 

brother? 
Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is sweet to stammer one letter 
Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called Forgiveness ! 
Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his tem- 
ples? 



796 TRANSLATIONS 



Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers ? Say, dost thou know 

Him? 
Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example, 
Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, 
Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly shepherd 220 

Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. 
This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. 
Love is the creature's welfare, with God ; but Love among mortals 
Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting, 
Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. 
Hope, — so is called upon earth his recompense, — Hope, the befriend- 
ing, 
Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful 
Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it 
Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows ! 
Paces, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,. 230 

Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven, 
Him, who has given us more ; for to us has Hope been transfigured, 
Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she is living assurance. 
Faith is enlightened Hope ; she is light, is the eye of affection, 
Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble. 
Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew's, 
For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its stable foundation 
Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinketh 
Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending. 
There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the figures majestic, 240 
Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her home- 
stead. 
Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow spontaneous 
Even as day does the sun : the Pight from the Good is an offspring, 
Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are no more than 
Animate Love and Faith, as flowers are the animate Springtide. 
Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and bear witness 
Not what they seemed, — but what they were only. Blessed is he 

who 
Hears their confession secure ; they are mute upon earth until death's 

hand 
Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm 

you? 
Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is only 250 

More austere to behold. "With a kiss upon lips that are fading 
Takes he the soul and departs, and, rocked in the arms of affection, 
Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its father. 
Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly his pinions, 
Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them ! I fear not be- 

fore him. 
Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom 
Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face to face standing 
Look I on God as He is, a sun unpolluted by vapors ; 
Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic, 
Nobler, better than I ; they stand by the throne all transfigured, 26a 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 797 

Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, 
Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels. 
You, in like manner, ye children beloved, He one day shall gather, 
Never forgets He the weary; — then welcome, ye loved ones here- 
after ! 
Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, 
Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth shall ye heed not ; 
Earth is but dust and heaven is light; I have pledged you to heaven. 
God of the universe, hear me ! thou fountain of Love everlasting, 
Hark to the voice of thy servant ! 1 send up my prayer to thy hea- 
ven! 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, 270 
Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved them all like a father. 
May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salva- 
tion, 
Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word ; again may they know me, 
Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them, 
Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with glad- 

ness, 
Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me ! ' 

Weeping he spake in these words ; and now at the beck of the old 
man 
Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure. 
Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly 
With him the children read ; at the close, with tremulous accents, 280 
Asked he the peace of Heaven, a benediction upon them. 
Now should have ended his task for the day ; the following Sunday 
Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper. 
Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid 

his 
Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; while thoughts 

high and holy 
Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonder- 
ful brightness. 
' On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall rest in the grave- 
yard ! 
Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, 
Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? the hour is accom- 
plished. 
Warm is the heart ; — I will ! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. 
What I began accomplish I now ; what failing therein is 291 

I, the old roan, will answer to God and the reverend father. 
Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, 
Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement? 
What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. 
Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a token, 
Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgres- 
sions 
Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 'T was in the begin- 
ning 



798 TRANSLATIONS 



Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er the 
Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the Heart the Atone- 
ment. 300 
Infinite is the fall, — the Atonement infinite likewise. 
See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, 
Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, 
Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals. 
Sin is brought forth full-grown ; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms 
Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of beaven and of angels, 
Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the tones in the harp's strings, 
Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's finger. 
Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, 
Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all re- 
splendent, 310 
Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o'ercomes her. 
Downward to earth He came and, transfigured, thence reascended, 
Not from the heart in like wise, for there He still lives in the Spirit, 
Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement. 
Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token. 
Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlasting 
Unto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that has vision. 
Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowed 
Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the intention alone of amendment 
Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes all 320 
Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended, 
Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is tried, and whose 

gold flows 
Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, mankind by Atonement 
Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup. 
But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom, 
Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's blessed body, 
And the Eedeemer's blood ! To himself he eateth and drinketh 
Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father * 
Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement ? ' 
Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children, 330 
4 Yes ! ' with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplica- 
tions, 
Bead the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem : 
1 Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, 
Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have mercy upon us ! ' 
Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, 
Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols. 
Oh, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad eye of midday, 
Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the churchyard 
Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan 

to shiver. 
But in the children (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran a 340 

Tremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold members. 
Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and 

above it 
Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; they saw there 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT 



799 



Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer. 
Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold 

clouds 
Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and 
their faces, 
Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he ' 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings 
Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. 35s 



KING CHRISTIAN 

(Kong Christian stod vkd h0ien mast) 
A NATIONAL, SONG OF DENMARK 

King Christian stood by the 
lofty mast 
In mist and smoke ; 
His sword was hammering so fast, 
Through Gothic helm and brain it 

passed ; 
Then sank each hostile hulk and 
mast, 
In mist and smoke. 
' Fly ! ' shouted they, ' fly, he who 

can! 
Who braves of Denmark's Chris- 
tian 
The stroke?' 

Nils Juel gave heed to the tem- 
pest's roar, 
Now is the hour ! 
He hoisted his blood-red flag once 

more, 
And smote upon the foe full sore, 
And shouted loud, through the 
tempest's roar, 
1 Now is the hour ! ' 
'Fly!' shouted they, 'for shelter 

fly! 
Of Denmark's Juel who can defy 
The power ? ' 

North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel 
rent 
Thy murky sky ! 



Then champions to thine arms 

were sent ; 
Terror and Death glared where he 

went ; 
From the waves was heard a wail, 

that rent 
Thy murky sky ! 
From Denmark thunders Torden^ 

skiol', 
Let each to Heaven commend his 

soul, 
And fly ! 

Path of the Dane to fame and 
might ! 
Dark-rolling wave ! 
Receive thy friend, who, scorning 

flight, 
Goes to meet danger with despite, 
Proudly as thou the tempest's 
might, 
Dark-rolling wave ! 
And amid pleasures and alarms, 
And war and victory, be thine 
arms 
My grave ! 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT 

(Den Udkaarne Ridder) 

This strange and somewhat mystical 
ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's 
Danske Viser fra Middelalderen. It 
seems to refer to the first preaching of 
Christianity in the North, and to the 
institution of Knight-Errantry. The 
three maidens I suppose to be Faith, 



8oo 



TRANSLATIONS 



Hope, and Charity. The irregularities 
of the original have been carefully pre- 
served in the translation. H. W. L. 

Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 
Full seven miles broad and seven 
miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with 
the man 
A tilt with him dare ride. 

He saw under the hillside 
A Knight full well equipped ; 

His steed was black, his helm was 
barred ; 
He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 

Twelve little golden birds ; 
Anon he spurred his steed with a 
clang, 
And there sat all the birds and 
sang. 

He wore upon his mail 
Twelve little golden wheels ; 

Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 
And round and round the wheels 
they flew. 

He wore before his breast 
A lance that was poised in rest ; 

And it was sharper than diamond- 
stone, 
It made Sir Oluf 's heart to groan. 

He wore upon his helm 
A wreath of ruddy gold ; 

And that gave him the Maidens 
Three, 
The youngest was fair to behold. 

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight 
eftsoon 
If he were come from heaven 
down; 
1 Art thou Christ of Heaven,' quoth 
he, 
4 So will I yield me unto thee.' 

I am not Christ the Great, 
Thou shalt not yield thee yet; 



I am an Unknown Knight, 
Three modest Maidens have me 
bedight.' 

' Art thou a Knight elected, 
And have three maidens thee 
bedight ; 

So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 
For all the Maidens' honor ! ' 

The first tilt they together rode 
They put their steeds to the 
test; 

The second tilt they together rode 
They proved their manhood best. 

The third tilt they together rode 
Neither of them would yield ; 

The fourth tilt they together rode 
They both fell on the field. 

Now lie the lords upon the plain, 
And their blood runs unto death ; 

Now sit the Maidens in the high 
tower, 
The youngest sorrows till death. 



CHILDHOOD 

(Da jeg VAE LILLE) 
BY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN 

There was a time when I was 
very small, 
When my whole frame was but 
an ell in height ; 
Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do 
fall, 
And therefore I recall it with de= 
light. 

I sported in my tender mother's 
arms, 
And rode a-horseback on best 
father's knee ; 
Alike were sorrows, passions and 
alarms, 
And gold, and Greek, and love, 
unknown to me. 



THE HAPPIEST LAND 



8or 



Then seemed to me this world far 
less in size, 
Likewise it seemed to me less 
wicked far ; 
Like points in heaven, I saw the 
stars arise, 
And longed for wings that I 
might catch a star. 

I saw the moon behind the island 
fade, 
And thought, ' Oh, were I on 
that island there, 
I could find out of what the moon 
is made, 
Find out how large it is, how 
round, how fair ! ' 

Wondering, I saw God's sun, 
through western skies, 
Sink in the ocean's golden lap at 
night, 
And yet upon the morrow early r ise , 
And paint the eastern heaven 
with crimson light ; 

And thought of God, the gracious 
Heavenly Father, 
Who made me, and that lovely 
sun on high, 
And all those pearls of heaven 
thick-strung together, 
Dropped, clustering, from his 
hand o'er all the sky. 

With childish reverence, my young 
lips did say 
The prayer my pious mother 

taught to me : 
O gentle God! oh, let me strive 

alway 
Still to be wise, and good, and 
follow thee ! ' 

So prayed I for my father and my 
mother, 
And for my sister, and for all the 
town; 
The king I knew not, and the beg- 
gar-brother, 
Who, bent with age, went, sigh- 
ing, up and down. 



They perished, the blithe days of 
boyhood perished, 
And all the gladness, all the 
peace I knew ! 
Now have I but their memory, 
fondly cherished ; — 
God ! may I never lose that too ! 



FROM THE GERMAN 
THE HAPPIEST LAND 

There sat one day in quiet, 
By an alehouse on the Khine, 

Four hale and hearty fellows, 
And drank the precious wine. 

The landlord's daughter filled 
their cups, 

Around the rustic board ; 
Then sat they all so calm and still, 

And spake not one rude word. 

But when the maid departed, 
A Swabian raised his hand, 

And cried, all hot and flushed with 
wine, 
' Long live the Swabian land ! 

' The greatest kingdom upon earth 
Cannot with that compare ; 

With all the stout and hardy men 
And the nut-brown maidens 
there.' 

' Ha ! ' cried a Saxon, laughing, 
And dashed his beard with 
wine; 
' I had ratber live in Lapland, 
Than that Swabian land of 
thine ! 

' The goodliest land on all this 
earth, 

It is the Saxon land ! 
There have I as many maidens 

As fingers on this hand ! ' 

' Hold your tongues ! both Swabian 
and Saxon ! ' 
A bold Bohemian cries; 



802 



TRANSLATIONS 



' If there 's a heaven upon this 


And by the cypresses 


earth, 


Softly o'ershadowed, 


In Bohemia it lies. 


Until the Angel 




Calls them, they slumber ! 


' There the tailor Mows the flute, 




And the cobbler blows the horn, 




And the miner blows tbe bugle, 


THE BIED AND THE SHIP 


Over mountain gorge and bourn,' 






(SCHIPP UND VOGEL) 


And then the landlord's daughter 




Up to heaven raised her hand, 


BY WILHELM MTJLLEB 


And said, ' Ye may no more con- 




tend, — 


' The rivers rush into the sea, 


There lies the happiest land ! ' 


By castle and town they go ; 




The winds behind them merrily 




Their noisy trumpets blow. 


THE WAVE 






' The clouds are passing far and 


(Die Welle) 


high, 




We little birds in them play ; 


BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE 


And everything, that can sing and 




fly, 


Whither, with so much haste, 


Goes with us, and far away. 


As if a thief wert thou? ' 






'I greet thee, bonny boat! 


' I am the Wave of Life, 


Whither, or whence, 


Stained with my margin's dust ; \ 


With thy fluttering golden 


From the struggle and the strife 


band ? ' — 


Of the narrow stream I fly 


* I greet thee, little bird ! To the 


To the Sea's immensity, 


wide sea 


To wash from me the slime 


I haste from the narrow land. 


Of the muddy banks of Time.' 






' Full and swollen is every sail ; 




I see no longer a hill, 


THE DEAD 


I have trusted all to the sounding 




gale, 


BY EKNST STOCKMANN 


And it will not let me stand still. 


How they so softly rest, 


' And wilt thou, little bird, go with 


All they the holy ones, 


us? 


Unto whose dwelling-place 


Thou mayest stand on the main- 


Now doth my soul draw near ! 


mast tall, 


How they so softly rest, 


For full to sinking is my house 


All in their silent graves, 


With merry companions all.' — 


Deep to corruption 




Slowly down-sinking ! 


4 1 need not and seek not company, 




Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; 


And they no longer weep, 


For the mainmast tall too heavy 


Here, where complaint is still ! 


am I, 


And they no longer feel, 


Bonny boat, I have wings of my 


Here, where all gladness flies ! 


own. 



BEWARE 



803 



' High over the sails, high over the 


'Tis the water-nymphs, that are 


mast, 


singing 


Who shall gainsay these joys ? 


Their roundelays under me. 


When thy merry companions are 




still, at last, 


Let them sing, my friend, let them 


Thou shalt hear the sound of my 


murmur, 


voice. 


And wander merrily near; 




The wheels of a mill are going 


* Who neither may rest, nor listen 


In every brooklet clear. 


may, 




God bless them every one ! 




I dart away, in the bright blue 


BEWARE! 


day, 




And the golden fields of the sun. 


(Hut du dich!) 


* Thus do I sing my weary song, 


I know a maiden fair to see, 


Wherever the four winds blow ; 


Take care ! 


And this same fcong, my whole life 


She can both false and friendly 


long, 


be, 


Neither Poet nor Printer may 


Beware ! Beware ! 


know.' 


Trust her not, 




She is fooling thee ! 


WHITHEE? 


She has two eyes, so soft and 




brown, 


(WOHIN ?) 


Take care ! 




She gives a side-glance and looks 


BY WILHELM MTJLEER 


down, 




Beware ! Beware ! 


I heard a brooklet gushing 


Trust her not, 


From its rocky fountain near, 


She is fooling thee ! 


Down into the valley rushing, 




So fresh and wondrous clear. 


And she has hair of a golden 




hue, 


I know not what came o'er me, 


Take care ! 


Nor who the counsel gave ; 


And what she says, it is not true, 


But I must hasten downward, 


Beware ! Beware ! 


All with my pilgrim-stave ; 


Trust her not, 




She is fooling thee ! 


Downward, and ever farther, 




And ever the brook beside ; 


She has a bosom as white as snow, 


And ever fresher murmured, 


Take care ! 


And ever clearer, the tide. 


She knows how much it is best to 




show, 


Is this the Way I was going? 


Beware ! Beware ! 


Whither, brooklet, say ! 


Trust her not, 


Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, 


She is fooling thee ! 


Murmured my senses away. 






She gives thee a garland woven 


What do I say of a murmur ? 


fair, 


That can no murmur be ; 


Take care ! 



r 



804 



TRANSLATIONS 



It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, 
Beware ! Beware ! 
Trust her not, 

She is fooling thee ! 



SONG OF THE BELL 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 
When the bridal party 

To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
When, on Sabbath morning, 

Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell! thou soundest merrily; 
Tellest thou at evening, 

Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
Bell ! thou soundest mournfully, 
Tellest thou the bitter 

Parting hath gone by ! 

Say ! how canst thou mourn ? 
How canst thou rejoice ? 

Thou art but metal dull! 
And yet all our sorrowings, 
And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 

God hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom, 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking, 
Thou alone canst raise it, 

Trembling in the storm ! 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA 

(Das Schloss am Meeee) 
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND 

Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 
That Castle by the Sea ? 

Golden and red above it 
The clouds float gorgeously. 

'And fain it would stoop down- 
ward 
To the mirrored wave below ; 



And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow.' 

' Well have I seen that castle, 

That Castle by the Sea, 
And the moon above it standing, 

And the mist rise solemnly.' 

'The winds and the waves of 
ocean, 
Had they a merry chime ? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty 
chambers 
The harp and the minstrel's 
rhyme ? ' 

' The winds and the waves of ocean, 

They rested quietly, 
But I heard on the gale a sound of 
wail, 

And tears came to mine eye.' 

' And sawest thou on the turrets 
The King and his royal bride? 

And the wave of their crimson 
mantles ? 
And the golden crown of pride ? 

' Led they not forth, in rapture, 
A beauteous maiden there ? 

Kesplendent as the morning sun, 
Beaming with golden hair? ' 

' Well saw I the ancient parents, 
Without the crown of pride ; 

They were moving slow, in weeds 
of woe, 
No maiden was by their side ! ' 



THE BLACK KNIGHT 

(Deb Schwaeze Rittee) . 
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND 

'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of 

Gladness, 
When woods and fields put off all 

sadness, 
Thus began the King and spake: 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND 



S05 



l So from the halls 
Of ancient Hofburg's walls, 
A luxuriant Spring shall break.' 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly, 
From balcony the King looked 
on; 
In the play of spears, 
Fell all the cavaliers, 
Before the monarch's stalwart 
son. 

To the barrier of the fight 
Kode at last a sable Knight. 

' Sir Knight ! your name and 
scutcheon, say ! ' 
' Should I speak it here, 
Ye would stand aghast with fear ; 

I am a Prince of mighty sway ! ' 

When he rode into the lists, 
The arch of heaven grew black 
with mists, 

And the castle 'gan to rock ; 
At the first blow, 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 

Hardly rises from the shock. 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 
Torch-light through the high halls 
glances ; 

Waves a mighty shadow in; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin. 

Danced in sable iron sark, 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 

Coldly clasped her limbs around ; 
From breast and hair 
Down fall from her the fair 

Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 

To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame ; 

'Twixt son and daughter all dis- 
traught, 
With mournful mind 
The ancient King reclined, 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 



Pale the children both did look. 
But the guest a beaker took : 
' Golden wine will make you 
whole ! ' 
The children drank, 
Gave many a courteous thank : 
' Oh, that draught was very 
cool ! ' 

Each the father's breast embraces, 
Son and daughter ; and their faces 

Colorless grow utterly ; 
Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father gray 

He beholds his children die. 

' Woe ! the blessed children both 
Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father ! ' 
Spake the grim Guest, 
From his hollow, cavernous breast. 

' Eoses in the spring I gather I ' 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND 

(Lied : Ins stille Land) 

BY JOHANN GAUDENZ VON 
SALIS-SEEWIS 

Into the Silent Land ! 

Ah ! who shall lead us thither? 

Clouds in the evening sky more 

darkly gather, 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker 

on the strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither,- oh, thither, 
Into the Silent Land ? 

Into the Silent Land ! 

To you, ye boundless regions 

Of all perfection ! Tender morn- 
ing-visions 

Of beauteous souls ! The Future's 
pledge and band ! 

Who in Life's battle firm doth 
stand, 

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 

Into the Silent Land ! 



8o6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Land ! O Land ! 

For all the broken-hearted 

The mildest herald by our fate al- 
lotted, 

Beckons, and with inverted torch 
doth stand 

To lead us with a gentle hand 

To the land of the great Departed, 

Into the Silent Land ! 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 

(Das Gluck von Edenhall) 
BY JOHANK LUDWIG UPILAKD 

Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
Bids sound the festal trumpet's 

call; 
He rises at the banquet board, 
And cries, 'mid the drunken re- 
vellers all, 
' Now bring me the Luck of Eden- 
hall ! ' 

The butler hears the words with 

pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal, 
Takes slow from its silken cloth 

again 
The drinking-glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then said the Lord : ' This glass 

to praise, 
Fill with red wine from Portugal ! ' 
The graybeard with trembling 

hand obeys ; 
A purple light shines over all, 
It beams from the Luck of Eden- 
hall. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves 
it light : 

*This glass of flashing crystal tall 

Gave to my sires the Fountain- 
Sprite ; 

She wrote in it, If this glass doth 
foil, 

Farewell then, O Luck of Eden- 
hall I 



' 'T was right a goblet the Fate 

should be 
Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
Deep draughts drink we right 

willingly ; 
And willingly ring, with merry 

call, 
Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of 

Edenhall ! ' 

First rings it deep, and full, and 

mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent 

wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the 

thunder's fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 

' For its keeper takes a race of 

might, 
The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
It has lasted longer than is right ; 
Kling! klang! — with a harder 

blow than all 
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! ' 

As the goblet ringing flies apart, 

Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 

And through the rift, the wild 
flames start ; 

The guests in dust are scattered 
all, 

With the breaking Luck of Eden- 
hall ! 

In storms the foe, with fire and 
sword ; 

He in the night had scaled the 
wall, 

Slain by the sword lies the youth- 
ful Lord, 

But holds in his hand the cryste 
tall, 

The shattered Luck of Edenhall 

On the morrow the butler grope. 

alone, 
The graybeard in the desert hall, 
He seeks his Lord's burnt skele« 

ton, 



THE HEMLOCK TREE 



807 



He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 


The brown is from the mother's 


The shards of the Luck of Eden- 


hair, 


hall. 


The blond is from the child. 


1 The stone wall,' saith he, ' doth 


And when I see that lock of gold, 


fall aside, 


Pale grows the evening-red ; 


Down must the stately columns 


And when the dark lock I behold, 


fall; 


I wish that I were dead. 


Glass is this earth's Luck and 




Pride ; 




In atoms shall fall this earthly 




ball 


THE HEMLOCK TREE 


One clay like the Luck of Eden- 




hall ! ' 


hemlock tree ! hemlock 




tree ! how faithful are thy 




branches ! 


THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR 


Green not alone in summer 




time, 


(Dee Junggesell) 


But in the winter's frost and 


BY GUSTAV PFIZER 


rime ! 




hemlock tree ! hemlock tree ! 


A youth, light-hearted and con- 


how faithful are thy 


tent, 


branches ! 


I wander through the world ; 




Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 


maiden fair ! maiden fair ! how 


And straight again is furled. 


faithless is thy bosom ! 




To love me in prosperity, 


Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 


And leave me in adversity ! 


Close in my heart w r as locked, 


maiden fair ! maiden fair ! how 


And in the sweet repose of life 


faithless is thy bosom ! 


A blessed child I rocked. 






The nightingale, the nightingale, 


I wake ! Away that dream, — 


thou tak'st for thine exam- 


away ! 


ple ! 


Too long did it remain ! 


So long as summer laughs she 


So long, that both by night and day 


sings, 


It ever comes again. 


But in the autumn spreads her 




wings. 


The end lies ever in my thought ; 


The nightingale, the nightingale, 


To a grave so cold and deep 


thou tak'st for thine exam- 


The mother beautiful was brought ; 


ple! 


Then dropt the child asleep. 






The meadow brook, the meadow 


But now the dream is wholly o'er, 


brook, is mirror of thy false- 


I bathe mine eyes and see ; 


hood ! 


And wander through the world 


It flows so long as falls the 


once more, 


rain, 


A youth so light and free. 


In drought its springs soon dry 




again. 


Two locks — and they are won- 


The meadow brook, the meadow 


drous fair — 


brook, is mirror of thy false- 


Left me that vision mild ; 


hood ! 



8o8 



TRANSLATIONS 



ANNIE OF THAEAW 

(Anke von Thaeau) 

BY SIMON DACH 

Annie of Tharaw, my true love 

of old, 
She is my life, and my goods, and 

my gold. 

Annie of Tharaw her heart once 

again 
To me has surrendered in joy and 

in pain. 

Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my 

good, 
Thou, O my soul, my flesh, and my 

blood ! 

Then come the wild weather, come 
sleet or come snow, 

We will stand by each other, how- 
ever it blow. 

Oppression and sickness, and sor- 
row, and pain 

Shall be to our true love as links 
to the chain. 

As the palm-tree standeth so 

straight and so tall, 
The more the hail beats, and the 

more the rains fall,— 

So love in our hearts shall grow 

mighty and strong, 
Through crosses, through sorrows, 

through manifold wrong. 

Shouldst thou be torn from me to 

wander alone 
In a desolate land where the sun 

is scarce known, — 

Through forests I '11 follow, and 
where the sea flows. 

Through ice, and through iron, 
through armies of foes. 



Annie of Tharaw, my light and my 

sun, 
The threads of our two lives are 

woven in one. 

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou 

hast obeyed, 
Whatever forbidden thou hast not 

gainsaid. 

How in the turmoil of life can love 

stand, 
Where there is not one heart, and 

one mouth, and one hand ? 

Some seek for dissension, and 

trouble, and strife ; 
Like a dog and a cat live such man 

and wife. 

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our 

love; 
Thou art my lambkin, my chick, 

and my dove. 

Whate'er my desire is, in thine 

may be seen ; 
I am king of the household, and 

thou art its queen. 

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's 

sweetest rest, 
That makes of us twain but one 

soul in one breast. 

This turns to a heaven the hut 

where we dwell ; 
While wrangling soon changes a 

home to a hell. 



THE STATUE OVER THE 
CATHEDRAL DOOR 

(Das Steinbild am Dome) 

BY JULIUS MOSEN 

Forms of saints and kings are 
standing 
The cathedral door above ; 



POETIC APHORISMS 



809 



Yet I saw but one among them 


From the cross 'twould free the 


Who hath soothed my soul with 


Saviour, 


love. 


Its Creator's Son release. 


In his mantle, — wound about him, 


And the Saviour speaks in mild- 


As their robes the sowers 


ness: 


wind, — 


' Blest be thou of all the good ! 


Bore he swallows and their fledg- 


Bear, as token of this moment, 


lings, 


Marks of blood and holy rood ! ' 


Flowers and weeds of every 




kind. 


And that bird is called the cross- 
bill; 
Covered all with blood so clear 


And so stands he calm and child- 


like, 


In the groves of pine it singeth 


High in wind and tempest wild ; 


Songs, like legends, strange t& 


Oh, were I like him exalted, 


hear. 


I would be like him a child ! 




And my songs, — green leaves and 




blossoms, — 


THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS 


To the doors of heaven would 




bear, 


BY HEINRICH HEINE 


Calling even in storm and tempest, 




Bound me still these birds of 


The sea hath its pearls, 


air. 


The heaven hath its stars ; 




But my heart, my heart, 




My heart hath its love. 


THE LEGEND OF THE CROSS- 




BILL 


Great are the sea and the hea- 


(Deb Kkeuzschnabel, No. 3) 


ven, 
Yet greater is my heart ; 




And fairer than pearls and stars 


BY JULIUS MOSEN 


Flashes and beams my love. 


On the cross the dying Saviour 


Thou little, youthful maiden, 


Heavenward lifts his eyelids 


Come unto my great heart ; 


calm, 


My heart, and the sea, and tlw 


Feels, but scarcely feels, a trem- 


heaven 


bling 


Are melting away with love ! 


In his pierced and bleeding 




palm. 




And by all the world forsaken, 


POETIC APHORISMS 


Sees He how with zealous care 




At the ruthless nail of iron 


FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF 


A little bird is striving there. 


FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU 


Stained with blood and never tir- 


MONEY 


ing, 


Whereunto is money good? 


With its beak it doth not cease, 


Who has it not wants hardihood. 



8io 



TRANSLATIONS 



Who has it has much trouble and 

care, 
"Who once has had it has despair. 

THE BEST MEDICINES 

Joy and Temperance and Repose 
Slam the door on the doctor's nose. 

SIN 

Man-like is it to fall into sin, 
Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, 
Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, 
God-like is it all sin to leave. 

POVERTY AND BLINDNESS 

A blind man is a poor man, and 

blind a poor man is ; 
For the former seeth no man, and 
. the latter no man sees. 

LAW OF LIFE 

Live I, so live I, 
To my Lord heartily, 
To my Prince faithfully, 
To my Neighbor honestly, 
Die I, so die I. 

CREEDS 

Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all 

these creeds and doctrines 

three 
Extant are; but still the doubt 

is, where Christianity may 

be. 

THE RESTLESS HEART 

A mill-stone and the human heart 
are driven ever round ; 

If they have nothing else to grind, 
they must themselves be 
ground. 

CHRISTIAN LOVE 

Whilom Love was like a fire, and 
warmth and comfort it be- 
spoke ; 

But, alas ! it now is quenched, and 
only bites us, like the smoke. 



ART AND TACT 

Intelligence and courtesy not al< 
ways are combined ; 

Often in a wooden house a golden 
room we find. 



RETRIBUTION 

Though the mills of God grind 
slowly, yet they grind ex- 
ceeding small ; 

Though with patience he stands 
waiting, with exactness 
grinds he all. 



TRUTH 

When by night the frogs are croak- 
ing, kindle but a torch's fire, 

Ha ! how soon they all are si- 
lent! Thus Truth silences 
the liar. 



RHYMES 

If perhaps these rhymes of mine 
should sound not well in 
strangers' ears, 

They have only to bethink them 
that it happens so with 
theirs ; 

For so long as words, like mor- 
tals, call a fatherland their 
own, 

They will be most highly valued 
where they are best and long- 
est known. 



SILENT LOVE 

Who love would seek, 
Let him love evermore 

And seldom speak ; 
For in love's domain 
Silence must reign ; 

Or it brings the heart 
Smart 
And pain. 



REMORSE 



811 



BLESSED ARE THE DEAD 


WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS 


(SELIG SIND, DIE IN DEM HERRN 


(Wandrers Nachtlied and Ein 


sterben) 


Gleiches) 


BY SIMON DACH 


BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON 


Oh, how blest are ye whose toils 


GOETHE 


are ended ! 




Who, through death, have unto 


1 


God ascended! 


Thou that from the heavens art, 


Ye have arisen 


Every pain and sorrow stillest, 


From the cares which keep us still 


And the doubly wretched heart 


in prison. 


Doubly with refreshment fillest, 




I am weary with contending ! 


We are still as in a dungeon living, 


Why this rapture and unrest ? 


Still oppressed with sorrow and 


Peace descending 


misgiving; 


Come, ah, come into my breast ! 


Our undertakings 


ii 


Are but toils, and troubles, and 


heart-breakings. 


O'er all the hill-tops 




Is quiet now, 


Ye, meanwhile, are in your cham- 


In all the tree-tops 


bers sleeping, 


Hearest thou 


Quiet, and set free from all our 


Hardly a breath ; 


weeping ; 


The birds are asleep in the trees: 


No cross nor trial 


Wait ; soon like these 


Hinders your enjoyments with 


Thou too shalt rest. 


denial. 




Christ has wiped away your tears 


REMORSE 


for ever ; 




Ye have that for which we still 


(MUT AND UnMIFT) 


endeavor. 




To you are chanted 


BY AUGUST VON PLATEN 


Songs which yet no mortal ear 
have haunted. 


How I started up in the night, in 
the night, 


Ah! who would not, then, depart 


Drawn on without rest or re- 


with gladness, 


prieval ! 


To inherit heaven for earthly sad- 


The streets, with their watchmen, 


ness? 


were lost to my sight, 


Who here would languish 


As I wandered so light 


Longer in bewailing and in an- 


In the night, in the night, 


guish ? 


Through the gate with the arch 




mediaeval. 


Come, Christ, and loose the 




chains that bind us ! 


The mill-brook rushed from the 


Lead us forth, and cast this world 


rocky height, 


behind us ! 


I leaned o'er the bridge in my 


With thee, the Anointed, 


yearaing ; 


Finds the soul its joy and rest ap- 


Deep under me watched I the 


pointed. 


waves in their flight, 



812 



TRANSLATIONS 



As they glided so light 


Never will I forsake thee, faithless, 


In the night, in the night, 


And thou thy mother ne'er for. 


Yet backward not one was return- 


sake, 


ing. 


Until her lips are white and breath, 
less, 
Until in death her eyes shall 


O'erhead were revolving, so count- 


less and bright, 


break. 


The stars in melodious exist- 




ence; 
And with them the moon, more 


ALLAH 


serenely bedight ; 
They sparkled so light 


BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHL- 

MANN 


In the night, in the night, 


Through the magical, measureless 


Allah gives light in darkness, 


distance. 


Allah gives rest in pain, 




Cheeks that are white with weep- 


And upward I gazed in the night, 


ing 


in the night, 


Allah paints red again. 


And again on the waves in their 




fleeting ; 


The flowers and the blossoms 


Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy 


wither, 


days in delight, 


Years vanish with flying feet ; 


Now silence thou light, 


But my heart will live on forever, 


In the night, in the night, 


That here in sadness beat. 


The remorse in thy heart that is 




beating. 


Gladly to Allah's dwelling 




Yonder would I take flight ; 




There will the darkness vanish, 


FORSAKEN 


There will my eyes have sight. 


Something the heart must have 




to cherish, 




Must love and joy and sorrow 


FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 


learn, 




Something with passion clasp, or 


THE GRAVE 


perish, 




And in itself to ashes burn. 


For thee was a house built 




Ere thou wast born, 


So to this child my heart is clinging, 


For thee was a mould meant 


And its frank eyes, with look 


Ere thou of mother earnest 


intense, 


But it is not made ready, 


Me from a world of sin are bring- 


Nor its depth measured, 


ing 


Nor is it seen 


Back to a world of innocence. 


How long it shall be. 




Now I bring thee 


Disdain must thou endure forever ; 


Where thou shalt be ; 


Strong may thy heart in danger 


Now I shall measure thee, 


be! 


And the mould afterwards. 


Thou shalt not fail! but ah, be 




never 


Thy house is not 


False as thy father was to me. 


Highly timbered, 



BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT 



8i3 



It is unhigh and low ; 
When thou art therein, 
The heel-ways are low, 
The side-ways unhigh. 
The roof is built 
Thy breast full nigh, 
So thou shalt in mould 
Dwell full cold, 
Dimly and dark. 

Doorless is that house, 
And dark it is within ; 
There thou art fast detained 
And Death hath the key. 
Loathsome is that earth-house, 
And grim within to dwell. 
There thou shalt dwell, 
And worms shall divide thee. 

Thus thou art laid, 
And leavest thy friends ; 
Thou hast no friend, 
Who will come to thee, 
Who will ever see 
How that house pleaseth thee ; 
Who will ever open 
The door for thee, 
And descend after thee ; 
For soon thou art loathsome 
And hateful to see. 



BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO 
HEOET 

Thus then, much care-worn, 

The son of Healfden 

Sorrowed evermore, 

Nor might the prudent hero 

His woes avert. 

The war was too hard, 

Too loath and longsome, 

That on the people came, 

Dire wrath and grim, 

Of night-woes- the worst. 10 

This from home heard 

Higelac's Thane, 

Good among the Goths, 

Grendel's deeds. 

He was of mankind 

In might the strongest, 



At that day 

Of this life, 

Noble and stalwart. 

He bade him a sea-ship, 20 

A goodly one, prepare. 

Quoth he, the war-king, 

Over the swan's road, 

Seek he would 

The mighty monarch, 

Since he wanted men. 

For him that journey 

His prudent fellows 

Straight made ready, 

Those that loved him. 30 ■ 

They excited their souls, 

The omen they beheld. 

Had the good-man 

Of the Gothic people 

Champions chosen, 

Of those that keenest 

He might find, 

Some fifteen men. 

The sea-wood sought he. 

The warrior showed, 40 

Sea-crafty man ! 

The land-marks, 

And first went forth. 

The ship was on the waves, 

Boat under the cliffs. 

The barons ready 

To the prow mounted. 

The streams they whirled 

The sea against the sands. 

The chieftains bore 50 

On the naked breast 

Bright ornaments, 

War-gear, Goth-like. 

The men shoved off, 

Men on their willing way, 

The bounden wood. 

Then went over the sea-waves, 
Hurried by the wind, 
The ship with foamy neck, 
Most like a sea-fowl, 60 

Till about one hour 
Of the second day 
The curved prow 
Had passed onward 
So that the sailors 
The land saw, 
The shore-cliffs shining, 



814 



TRANSLATIONS 



Mountains steep, 


Your origin know, 


And broad sea-noses. 


Ere ye forth 120 


Then was the sea-sailing 70 


As false spies 


Of the Earl at an end. 


Into the Land of the Danes 


Then up speedily 


Farther fare. 


The Weather people 


Now, ye dwellers afar-off ! 


On the land went, 


Ye sailors of the sea ! 


The sea-hark moored, 


Listen to my 


Their mail-sarks shook, 


One-fold thought. 


Their war-weeds. 


Quickest is best 


God thanked they, 


To make known 


That to them the sea-journey 


Whence your coming may be.' 


Easy had been. 80 




Then from the wall beheld 




The warden of the Scyldings, 


THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT 


He who the sea-cliffs 


AGAINST THE BODY 


Had in his keeping, 




Bear o'er the balks 


FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 


The bright shields, 




The war-weapons speedily. 


Much it behoveth 


Him the doubt disturbed 


Each one of mortals, 


In his mind's thought, 


That he his soul's journey 


What these men might be. 90 


In himself ponder, 


Went then to the shore, 


How deep it may be. 


On his steed riding 


When Death cometh, 


The Thane of Hrothgar. 


The bonds he breaketh 


Before the host he shook 


By which were united 


His warden's-staff in hand, 


The soul and the body. 


In measured words demanded: 




' What men are ye 


Long it is thenceforth 


War-gear wearing, 


Ere the soul taketh 


Host in harness, 


From God himself 


Who thus the brown keel 100 


Its woe or its weal ; 


Over the water-street 


As in the world erst, 


Leading come 


Even in its earth-vessel, 


Hither over the sea ? 


It wrought before. 


I these boundaries 




As shore-warden hold, 


The soul shall come 


That in the Land of the Danes 


Wailing with loud voice, 


Nothing loathsome 


After a sennight, 


With a ship-crew 


The soul, to find 


Scathe us might. . . . 


The body 


Ne'er saw I mightier no 


That it erst dwelt in ; — 


Earl upon earth 


Three hundred winters, 


Than is your own, 


Unless ere that worketh 


Hero in harness. 


The Eternal Lord, 



Not seldom this warrior 
Is in weapons distinguished ; 
Never his beauty belies him, 
His peerless countenance ! 
Now would I fain 



The Almighty God, 
The end of the world. 

Crieth then, so care-worn, 
With cold utterance, 



THE RETURN OF SPRING 



815 



And speaketh grimly, 


SONG 


The ghost to the dust : 




'Dry dust! thou dreary one! 


And whither goest thou, gentle 


How little didst thou labor forme ! 


sigh, 


In the foulness of earth 


Breathed so softly in my ear ? 


Thou all wearest away 


Say, dost thou bear his fate se- 


Like to the loam ! 


vere 


Little didst thou think 


To Love's poor martyr doomed to 


How thy soul's journey 


die? 


Would be thereafter, 


Come, tell me quickly, — do not lie ; 


When from the body 


What secret message bring'st 


It should be led forth.' 


thou here ? 




And whither goest thou, gentlfc 




sigh, 


FROM THE FRENCH 


Breathed so softly in my ear? 




May Heaven conduct thee to thy 


SONG 


will, 
And safely speed thee on thy 


FROM THE PARADISE OP LOVE 


way; 




This only I would humbly 


Hark! hark! 


pray, — 


Pretty lark ! 


Pierce deep, — but oh! forbear to 


Little heedest thou my pain ! 


kill. 


But if to these longing arms 


And whither goest thou, gentle 


Pitying Love would yield the 


sigh, 


charms 


Breathed so softly in my ear ? 


Of the fair 




With smiling air, 
Blithe would beat my heart again. 


THE RETURN OF SPRING 


Hark! hark! 


(Renouveau) 


Pretty lark ! 


BY CHARLES D'ORLEAKS 


Little heedest thou my pain ! 




Love may force me still to bear, 


Now Time throws off his cloak 


While he lists, consuming care ; 


again 


But in anguish 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and 


Though I languish, 


rain, 


Faithful shall my heart remain. 


And clothes him in the embroidery 




Of glittering sun and clear blue 


Hark ! hark ! 


sky. 


Pretty lark ! 


With beast and bird the forest 


Little heedest thou my pain ! 


rings, 


Then cease, Love, to torment me so ; 


Each in his jargon cries or sings ; 


But rather than all thoughts fore- 


And Time throws off his cloak 


go 


again 


Of the fair 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and 


With flaxen hair, 


rain. 


Give me back her frowns again. 




Hark ! hark ! 


River, and fount, and tinkling 


Pretty lark ! 


brook 


Little heedest thou my pain ! 


Wear in their dainty livery 



8i6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Drops of silver jewelry ; 


Thou tearest away the mournful 


In new-made suit they merry look ; 


shroud, 


And Time throws off his cloak 


And the earth looks bright, and 


again 


Winter surly, 


Of ermined frost, and wind, and 


Who has toiled for naught both 


rain. 


late and early, 




Is banished afar by the new-born 




year, 


SPRING 


When thy merry step draws near. 


BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS 






THE CHILD ASLEEP 


Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad, 




Well dost thou thy power dis- 


(VbESLETS 1 MON PREMIER NE) 


play ! 


BY CLOTILDE DB SURVILLE 


For Winter maketh the light heart 




sad, 


Sweet babe! true portrait of 


And thou, thou makest the sad 


thy father's face, 


heart gay. 


Sleep on the bosom that thy lips 


He sees thee, and calls to his 


have pressed ! 


gloomy train, 


Sleep, little one ; and closely, 


The sleet, and the snow, and the 


gently place 


wind, and the rain ; 


Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mo- 


And they shrink away, and they 


ther's breast. 


flee in fear, 




When thy merry step draws 


Upon that tender eye, my little 


near. 


friend, 




Soft sleep shall come, that Com- 


Winter giveth the fields and the 


eth not to me ! 


trees, so old, 


I watch to see thee, nourish thee, 


Their beards of icicles and 


defend ; 


snow; 


'Tis sweet to watch for thee, 


And the rain, it raineth so fast and 


alone for thee ! 


cold, 




We must cower over the embers 


His arms fall down; sleep sits 


low; 


upon his brow ; 


And, snugly housed from the wind 


His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor 


and weather, 


dreams of harm. 


Mope like birds that are changing 


Wore not his cheek the apple's 


feather. 


ruddy glow, 


But the storm retires, and the sky 


Would you not say he slept on 


grows clear, 


Death's cold arm ? 


When thy merry step draws 




near. 


Awake, my boy! I tremble with 




affright ! 


Winter maketh the sun in the 


Awake, and chase this fatal 


gloomy sky 


thought ! Unclose 


Wrap him round with a mantle 


Thine eye but for one moment on 


of cloud ; 


the light ! 


But, Heaven be praised, thy step 


Even at the price of thine, give 


is nigh ; 


me repose I 



DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP TURPIN 



817 



Sweet error! he but slept, I 
breathe again ; 
Come, gentle dreams, the hour 
of sleep beguile ! 
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh 
in vain, 
Beside me watch to see thy wak- 
ing smile ? 



DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP 
TURPIN 

FROM THE CHANSON DE RO- 
LAND 

The Archbishop, whom God loved 

in high degree, 
Beheld his wounds ail bleeding 

fresh and free ; 
And then his cheek more ghastly 

grew and wan, 
And a faint shudder through his 

members ran. 
Upon the battle-field his knee was 

bent; 
Brave Roland saw, and to his suc- 
cor went, 
Straightway his helmet from his 

brow unlaced, 
And tore the shining hauberk from 

his breast 
Then raising in his arms the man 

of God, 
Gently he laid him on the verdant 

sod. 
4 Rest, Sire,' he cried,— for rest thy 

suffering needs. 1 
The priest replied, ' Think but of 

warlike deeds t 
The field is ours; well may we 

boast this strife ! 
But death steals on, — there is no 

hope of life ; 
In paradise, where Almoners live 

again, 
There are our couches spread, 

there shall we rest from pain.' 

Sore Roland grieved; nor marvel 
I, alas ! 



That thrice he swooned upon the 

thick green grass. 
When he revived, with a loud 

voice cried he, 
4 O Heavenly Father ! Holy Saint 

Marie ! 
Why lingers death to lay me in my 

grave ! 
Beloved France! how have the 

good and brave 
Been torn from thee, and left thee 

weak and poor ! ' 
Then thoughts of Aude, his lady- 
love, came o'er 
His spirit, and he whispered soft 

and slow, 
* My gentle friend ! — what parting 

full of woe ! 
Never so true a liegeman shalt 

thou see ; — 
Whate'er my fate, Christ's benison 

on thee ! 
Christ, who did save from realms 

of woe beneath, 
The Hebrew Prophets from the 

second death.' 

Then to the Paladins, whom well 

he knew, 
He went, and one by one unaided 

drew 
To Turpin's side, well skilled in 

ghostly lore ; — 
No heart had he to smile, but, 

weeping sore, 
He blessed them in God's name, 

with faith that he 
Would soon vouchsafe to them a 

glad eternity. 

The Archbishop, then, on whom 

God's benison rest, 
Exhausted, bowed his head upon 

his breast ; 
His mouth was full of dust and 

clotted gore, 
And many a wound his swollen 

visage bore. 
Slow beats his heart, his panting 

bosom heaves. 



8i8 



TRANSLATIONS 



Death comes apace, — no hope of 
cure relieves. 

Towards heaven he raised his dy- 
ing hands and prayed 

That God, who for our sins was 
mortal made, 

Born of the Virgin, scorned and 
crucified, 

In paradise would place him by 
his side. 

Then Turpin died in service of 
Charlon, 

In battle great and eke great ori- 
son; — 

'Gainst Pagan host alway strong 
champion ; 

God grant to him his holy benison. 

THE BLIND GIEL OF CASTEL 
CUILLE 

BY JACQUES JASMIN 

Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland 

might 
Rehearse this little tragedy aright ; 
Let me attempt it with an English quill; 
And take, O Reader, for the deed the 

will. 



At the foot of the mountain 
height 

Where is perched Cast&l 
Cuille, 
When the apple, the plum, and the 
almond tree 

In the plain below were grow- 
ing white, 

This is the song one might 
perceive 
On a Wednesday morn of St. Jo- 
seph's Eve : 

The roads should blossom, the 
roads should bloom, 

So fair a bride shall leave her 
home ! 

Shoxdd blossom and bloom with 
garlands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to- 
day! IO 



This old Te Deum, rustic rites at- 
tending, 
Seemed from the clouds de,. 

scending ; 
When lo ! a merry company 
Of rosy village girls, clean as the 
eye, 
Each one with her attendant 
swain, 
Came to the cliff, all singing the 

same strain ; 
Kesembling there, so near unto the 

sky, 
Rejoicing angels, that kind heaven 

had sent 
For their delight and our encour- 
agement. 
Together blending, 20 

And soon descending 
The narrow sweep 
Of the hillside steep, 
They wind aslant 
Towards Saint Amant, 
Through leafy alleys 
Of verdurous valleys 
With merry sallies, 
Singing their chant : 

The roads should blossom, the 
roads should bloom, 30 

So fair a bride shall leave her 
home! 

Should blossom and bloom with 
garlands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to- 
day ! 

It is Baptiste, and his affianced 

maiden, 
With garlands for the bridal 

laden ! 

The sky was blue; without one 
cloud of gloom, 
The sun of March was shining 

brightly, 
And to the air the freshening 
wind gave lightly 
Its breathings of perfume. 

When one beholds the dusky 
hedges blossom, 40 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 819 



A rustic bridal, ah ! how sweet 


To see them so careless and cold 


it is! 


to-day, 


To sounds of joyous melodies, 


These are grand people, one 


That touch with tenderness the 


would say. 


trembling bosom, 


What ails Baptiste? what grief 


A band of maidens 


doth him oppress ? 


Gayly frolicking, 




A band of youngsters 


It is, that, half-way up the- 


"Wildly rollicking ! 


hill, 


Kissing, 


In yon cottage, by whose walls 


Caressing, 


Stand the cart-house and the 


With fingers pressing, 50 


stalls, 


Till in the veriest 


Dwelleth the blind orphan 


Madness of mirth, as they 


still, 80 


dance, 


Daughter of a veteran old ; 


They retreat and advance, 


And you must know, one year 


Trying whose laugh shall be 


ago, 


loudest and merriest ; 


That Margaret, the young and 


While the bride, with roguish 


tender, 


eyes, 


Was the village pride and 


Sporting with them, now es- 


splendor, 


capes and cries : 


And Baptiste her lover bold. 


' Those who catch me 


Love, the deceiver, them en- 


Married verily 


snared ; 


This year shall be ! ' 59 


For them the altar was pre- 




pared ; 


And all pursue with eager haste, 


But alas ! the summer's blight, 


And all attain what they pursue, 


The dread disease that none 


And touch her pretty apron fresh 


can stay, 


and new, \ 


The pestilence that walks by 


And the linen kirtle round her 


night, go 


waist. 


Took the young bride's sight 




away. 


Meanwhile, whence comes it that 




among 


All at the father's stern command 


These youthful maidens fresh and 


was changed ; 


fair, 


Then peace was gone, but not 


So joyous, with such laughing air, 


their love estranged. 


Baptiste stands sighing, with si- 


Wearied at home, erelong the 


lent tongue ? 


lover fled ; 


And yet the bride is fair and 


Returned but three short days 


young ! 


ago, 


Is it Saint Joseph would say to us 


The golden chain they round 


all, 


him throw, 


That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a 


He is enticed, and onward led 


fall? 70 


To marry Angela, and yet 


Oh no ! for a maiden frail, I 


Is thinking ever of Marga- 


trow, 


ret. 99 


Never bore so lofty a brow ! 




What lovers ! they give not a sin- 


Then suddenly a maiden cried, 


gle caress ! 


4 Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate ! 



820 



TRANSLATIONS 



Here comes the cripple Jane ! 


Thou diggest for thyself a 


And by a fountain's side 


tomb ! ' 


A woman, bent and gray with 


And she was silent ; and the maid- 


years, 


ens fair 


Under the mulberry trees ap- 


Saw from each eye escape a 


pears, 


swollen tear; 130 


And all towards her run, as 


But on a little streamlet silver- 


fleet 


clear, 


As had they wings upon their 


What are two drops of turbid 


feet. 


rain? 




Saddened a moment, the bridal 


It is that Jane, the cripple 


train 


Jane, 


Resumed the dance and song 


Is a soothsayer, wary and 


again ; 


kind. 


The bridegroom only was pale 


She telleth fortunes, and none 


with fear ; — 


complain. 


And down green alleys 


She promises one a village 


Of verdurous valleys, 


swain, no 


With merry sallies, 


Another a happy wedding-day, 


They sang the refrain : — 


And the bride a lovely boy 




straightway. 


The roads should blossom, the 


All comes to pass as she 


roads should bloom, 140 


avers ; 


So fair a bride shall leave her 


She never deceives, she never 


home ! 


errs. 


Should blossom and bloom with 




garlands gay, 


But for this once the village 


So fair a bride shall pass to- 


seer 


day ! 


Wears a countenance severe, 




And from beneath her eyebrows 




thin and white 


II 


Her two eyes flash like can- 




nons bright 
Aimed at the bridegroom in 


And by suffering worn and weary, 


But beautiful as some fair angel 


waistcoat blue, 


yet, 


"Who, like a statue, stands in 


Thus lamented Margaret, 


view ; 120 


In her cottage lone and dreary : — 


Changing color, as well he 




might, 


'He has arrived! arrived at 


When the beldame wrinkled 


last! 


and gray 


Yet Jane has named him not these 


Takes the young bride by the 


three days past ; 


hand, 


Arrived! yet keeps aloof so 


And, with the tip of her reedy 


far! 150 


wand 


And knows that of my night he is 


Making the sign of the cross, 


the star ! 


doth say : — 


Knows that long months I wait 


' Thoughtless Angela, beware ! 


alone, benighted, 


Lest, when thou weddest this 


And count the moments since he 


false bridegroom, 


went away ! 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 821 



Come ! keep the promise of that 


Away! he will return! I do but 


happier day, 


rave! 


That I may keep the faith to thee 


He will return! I need not 


I plighted ! 


fear ! 180 


What joy have I without thee? 


He swore it by our Saviour 


what delight? 


dear ; 


Grief wastes my life, and makes it 


He could not come at his own 


misery ; 


will; 


Day for the others ever, but for 


Is weary, or perhaps is ill ! 


me 


Perhaps his heart, in this dis- 


Forever night ! forever night! 


guise, 


When he is gone 't is dark ! my 


Prepares for me some sweet 


soul is sad ! 160 


surprise ! 


I suffer ! my God ! come, make 


But some one comes! Though 


me glad. 


blind, my heart can see ! 


When he is near, no thoughts of 


And that deceives me not ! 't is he ! 


day intrude ; 


't is he ! ' 


Day has blue heavens, hut Baptiste 


And the door ajar it set, 


has blue eyes ! 


And poor, confiding Margaret 


Within them shines for me a 


Eises, with outstretched arms, but 


heaven of love, 


sightless eyes ; 190 


A heaven all happiness, like that 


'T is only Paul, her brother, who 


above, 


thus cries : — 


No more of grief ! no more of 


' Angela the bride has passed ! 


lassitude ! 


I saw the wedding guests go 


Earth I forget, — and heaven, and 


by; 


all distresses, 


Tell me, my sister, why were 


When seated by my side my hand 


we not asked? 


he presses; 


For all are there but you and 


But when alone, remember 


I!' 


all! 




Where is Baptiste ? he hears not 


' Angela married ! and not 


when I call ! 170 


sent 


A branch of ivy, dying on the 


To tell her secret unto me ! 


ground, 


Oh, speak ! who may the 


I need some bough to twine 


bridegroom be?' 


around ! 


1 My sister, 't is Baptiste, thy 


In pity come ! be to my suffering 


friend ! ' 


kind! 




True love, they say, in grief doth 


A cry the blind girl gave, but no- 


more abound ! 


thing said ; 200 


What then — when one is 


A milky whiteness spreads upon 


blind ? 


her cheeks ; 




An icy hand, as heavy as lead, 


'Who knows? perhaps I am 


Descending, as her brother 


forsaken ! 


speaks, 


Ah ! woe is me ! then bear me to 


Upon her heart, that has 


my grave I 


ceased to beat, 


God ! what thoughts within 


Suspends awhile its life and 


me waken ! 


heat. 



822 



TRANSLATIONS 



She stands beside the boy, now 


My little friend! what ails 


sore distressed, 


thee, sweet?' 


A wax Madonna as a peasant 


' Nothing ! I heard them singing 


dressed. 


home the bride ; 


At length, the bridal song 


And, as I listened to the song, 


again 


I thought my turn would come 


Brings her back to her sorrow 


erelong, 


and pain. 


Thou knowest it is at Whit- 




suntide. 


'Hark! the joyous airs are 


Thy cards forsooth can never 


ringing! 210 


lie, 


Sister, dost thou hear them 


To me such joy they prophesy, 


singing ? 


Thy skill shall be vaunted far 


How merrily they laugh and 


and wide 


jest! 


When they behold him at my 


Would we were bidden with 


side. 


the rest ! 


And poor Baptiste, what say- 


I would don my hose of home- 


est thou ? 240 


spun gray, 


It must seem long to him; — me- 


And my doublet of linen striped 


thinks I see him now ! ' 


and gay ; 


Jane, shuddering, her hand 


Perhaps they will come ; for 


doth press : 


they do not wed 


' Thy love I cannot all ap- 


Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, 


prove ; 


it is said ! ' 


We must not trust too much to 


' I know it ! ' answered Mar- 


happiness ; — 


garet ; 


Go, pray to God, that thou mayest 


"Whom the vision, with aspect 


love him less ! ' 


black as jet, 


' The more I pray, the more I 


Mastered again ; and its hand 


love! 


of ice 220 


It is no sin, for God is on my 


Held her heart crushed, as in a vice ! 


side ! ' 


' Paul, be not sad ! 'T is a holi- 


It was enough ; and Jane no more 


day; 


replied. 


To-morrow put on thy dou- 




blet gay ! 


Now to all hope her heart is barred 


But leave me now for awhile 


and cold ; 


alone.' 


But to deceive the beldame 


Away, with a hop and a jump, 


old 250 


went Paul, 


She takes a sweet, contented 


And, as he whistled along the 


air; 


hall, 


Speak of foul weather or of 


Entered Jane, the crippled 


fair, 


crone. 


At every word the maiden 




smiles ! 


'Holy Virgin! what dreadful 


Thus the beguiler she be- 


heat ! 


guiles ; 


I am faint, and weary, and out 


So that, departing at the evening's 


of breath ! 


close, 


But thou art cold, — art chill 


She says, ' She may be saved; 


as death ; 230 


she nothing knows ! ' 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE 823 



Poor Jane, the cunning sor- 
ceress ! 
Now that thou wouldst, thou art 

no prophetess ! 
This morning, in the fulness of thy 
heart, 
Thou wast so, far beyond thine 
art ! 260 



Now rings the bell, nine times re- 
verberating, 

And the white daybreak, stealing 
up the sky, 

Sees in two cottages two maidens 
waiting, 
How differently ! 

Queen of a day, by flatterers ca- 
ressed, 

The one puts on her cross and 
crown, 

Decks with a huge bouquet 
her breast, 

And flaunting, fluttering up 
and down, 

Looks at herself, and cannot 
rest. 

The other, blind, within her 
little room, 270 

Has neither crown nor flow- 
er's perfume ; 
But in their stead for something 
gropes apart, 

That in a drawer's recess doth 
lie, 
And, 'neath her bodice of bright 
scarlet dye, 

Convulsive clasps it to her 
heart. 

The one, fantastic, light as air, 

'Mid kisses ringing, 

And joyous singing, 
Forgets to say her morning 

prayer ! 

The other, with cold drops upon 
her brow, 280 



Joins her two hands, and kneels 
upon the floor, 
And whispers, as her brother opes 
the door, 
4 O God ! forgive me now ! » 

And then the orphan, young 

and blind, 
Conducted by her brother's 

hand, 
Towards the church, through 

paths unscanned, 
With tranquil air, her way 

doth wind. 
Odors of laurel, making her faint 

and pale, 
Round her at times exhale, 289 
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, 
But brumal vapors gray. 

Near that castle, fair to see, 
Crowded with sculptures old, in 

every part, 
Marvels of nature and of art, 
And proud of its name of high 

degree, 
A little chapel, almost bare 
At the base of the rock, is 

builded there ; 
All glorious that it lifts aloof, 
Above each jealous cottage 

roof, 
Its sacred summit, swept by au- 
tumn gales, 300 
And its blackened steeple high 

in air, 
Bound which the osprey screams 

and sails. 

4 Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by ! ' 

Thus Margaret said. 4 Where are 
we? we ascend! ' 

4 Yes ; seestthou not our journey's 
end ? 

Hearest not the osprey from the 
belfry cry ? 

The hideous bird, that brings ill 
luck, we know ! 

Dost thou remember when our fa- 
ther said, 



824 



TRANSLATIONS 



The night we watched beside his 

bed, 
"O, daughter, I am weak and 

low ; 3 io 

Take care of Paul; I feel that I 

am dying .' " 
And thou, and he, and I, all fell to 

crying ? 
Then on the roof the osprey 

screamed aloud ; 
And here they brought our father 

in his shroud. 
There is his grave ; there stands 

the cross we set ; 
Why dost thou clasp me so, dear 

Margaret ? 
Come in ! the bride will be here 

soon: 
Thou tremblest ! my God ! thou 

art going to swoon ! ' 



She could no more, — the blind 

girl, weak and weary ! 
A voice seemed crying from that 
grave so dreary, 320 

* "What wouldst thou do, my daugh- 
ter ?' — and she started, 
And quick recoiled, aghast, 
faint-hearted ; 
But Paul, impatient, urges ever- 
more 
Her steps towards the open 
door; 
And when, beneath her feet, the 

unhappy maid 
Crushes the laurel near the house 

immortal, 

And with her head, as Paul talks 

on again, 

Touches the crown of flligrane 

Suspended from the low-arched 

portal, 330 

No more restrained, no more 

afraid, 
She walks, as for a feast ar- 
rayed, 
And in the ancient chapel's som- 
bre night 
They both are lost to sight. 



At length the bell, 
Witb booming sound, 
Sends forth, resounding round. 
Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and 

down the dell. 
It is broad day, with sunshine 

and with rain ; 
And yet the guests delay not 

long, 
For soon arrives the bridal 

train, 340 

And with it brings the village 

throng. 

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal 
gay, 

For lo! Baptiste on this trium- 
phant day, 

Mute as an idiot, sad as yester- 
morning, 

Thinks only of the beldame's 
words of warning. 

And Angela thinks of her cross, I 

wis; 
To be a bride is all! the pretty 

lisper 
Feels her heart swell to hear all 

round her whisper, 
'How beautiful! how beautiful 

she is ! ' 

But she must calm that giddy 
head, 350 

For already the Mass is said ; 
At the holy table stands the 
priest; 
The wedding ring is blessed: 
Baptiste receives it ; 
Ere on ihe finger Of the bride hf 
leaves it, 
He must pronounce one word 
at least ! 
'Tis spoken; and sudden at the 

groomsman's side 
' 'T is he ! ' a well-known voice has 

cried. 
And while the wedding guests all 
hold their breath, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 



825 



Opes the confessional, and the 
blind girl, see ! 

' Baptiste,' she said, ' since thou 
hast wished my death, 360 

As holy water be my blood for 
thee ! ' 

And calmly in the air a knife sus- 
pended ! 

Doubtless her guardian angel near 
attended, 
For anguish did its work so 

well, 
That, ere the fatal stroke de- 
scended, 
Lifeless she fell ! 

At eve, instead of bridal verse, 
The De Profundis filled the 

air; 
Decked with flowers a simple 

hearse 
To the churchyard forth they 

bear; 370 

Village girls in robes of snow 
Follow, weeping as they go ; 
Nowhere was a smile that day, 
No, ah no ! for each one seemed to 

say: — 

The road shoidcl mourn and be 
veiled in gloom, 

So fair a corpse shall leave its 
home .' 

Should mourn and should weep, 
ah, well-away ! 

So fair a corpse shall pass to- 
day ! 



A CHRISTMAS CAKOL 

FROM THE NOEI BOTJRGUIGNON 
DE GUI BARdzAI 

I hear along our street 
Pass the minstrel throngs ; 
Hark ! they play so sweet, 
On their hautboys, Christmas 
songs ! 
Let us by the fire 



Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

In December ring 
Every day the chimes ; 
Loud the gleemen sing 
In the streets their merry rhymes. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the nigbt expire. 

Shepherds at the grange, 
Where the Babe was born, 
Sang, with many a change, 
Christmas carols until morn. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

These good people sang 
Songs devout and sweet; 
While the rafters rang, 
There they stood with freezing 
feet. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Nuns in frigid cells 
At this holy tide, 
For want of something else, 
Christmas songs at times have 
tried. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Washerwomen old, 
To the sound they beat, 
Sing by rivers cold, 
With uncovered heads and feet 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Who by the fireside stands 
Stamps his feet and sings ; 
But he who blows his hands 
Not so gay a carol brings. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire I 



826 



TRANSLATIONS 



CONSOLATION 

TO M. DUPERRIER, GENTLEMAN 
OP AIX IN PROVENCE, ON THE 
DEATH OP HIS DAUGHTER 

By FRANgois De Malhebbe 

Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow 
he eternal ? 
And shall the sad discourse 
Whispered within thy heart, hy 
tenderness paternal, 
Only augment its force ? 

Thy daughter's mournful fate, into 
the tomh descending 
By death's frequented ways, 
Has it become to thee a labyrinth 
never ending, 
Where thy lost reason strays ? 

I know the charms that made her 
youth a benediction : 
Nor should I be content, 
As a censorious friend, to solace 
thine affliction 
By her disparagement. 

But she was of the world, which 

fairest things exposes 

To fates the most forlorn ; 

A rose, she too hath lived as long 

as live the roses, 

The space of one brief morn. 



Death has his rigorous laws, un- 
paralleled, unfeeling; 
All prayers to him are vain ; 
Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf 
to our appealing, 
He leaves us to complain. 

The poor man in his hut, with only 
thatch for cover, 
Unto these laws must bend ; 
The sentinel that guards the bar- 
riers of the Louvre 
Cannot our kings defend. 



To murmur against death, in petu- 
lant defiance, 
Is never for the best ; 
To will what God doth will, that 
is the only science 
That gives us any rest. 



TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU 
BY FRANgOIS DE MALHERBE 

Thou mighty Prince of Church 

and State, 
Richelieu ! until the hour of death, 
Whatever road man chooses, Fate 
Still holds him subject to her 

breath. 
Spun of all silks, our days and 

nights 
Have sorrows woven with de- 
lights ; 
And of this intermingled shade 
Our various destiny appears, 
Even as one sees the course of 

years 
Of summers and of winters made. 

Sometimes the soft, deceitful hours 
Let us enjoy the halcyon wave ; 
Sometimes impending peril lowers 
Beyond the seaman's skill to save. 
The Wisdom, infinitely wise, 
That gives to human destinies 
Their foreordained necessity, 
Has made no law more fixed be- 
low, 
Than the alternate ebb and flow 
Of Fortune and Adversity. 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD 

(L'Ange et l'Enfant ; Elegie a une 
Mere) 

BY JEAN REBOUL, THE BAKER 

OF NISMES 

An angel with a radiant face, 
Above a cradle bent to look, 



ON THE TERRACE OF THE AIGALADE3 827 


Seemed his own image there to 


When one is pure as thou art 


trace, 


now, 


As in the waters of a brook. 


The fairest day is still the last.' 


'Dear child! who me resemblest 


And waving wide his wings of 


so,' 


white, 


It whispered, 'come, oh come 


The angel, at these words, had 


with me ! 


sped 


Happy together let us go, 


Towards the eternal realms of 


The earth unworthy is of thee ! 


light! — 




Poor mother! see, thy son is 


' Here none to perfect bliss attain ; 


dead ! 


The soul in pleasure suffering 
lies ■ 




Joy hath an undertone of pain, 


ON THE TERRACE OF THE 


And even the happiest hours 


AIGALADES 


their sighs. 






BY JOSEPH MERY 


' Fear doth at every portal knock ; 




Never a day serene and pure 


From this high portal, where up. 


From the o'ershadowing tempest's 


springs 


shock 


The rose to touch our hands in 


Hath made the morrow's dawn 


Play, 


secure. 


We at a glance behold three 




things,— 


"What, then, shall sorrows and 


The Sea, the Town, and the High' 


shall fears 


way. 


Come to disturb so pure a brow ? 




And with the bitterness of tears 


And the Sea says: My shipwrecks 


These eyes of azure troubled 


fear; 


grow ? 


I drown my best friends in the 




deep; 


'Ah no ! into the fields of space, 


And those who braved my tem- 


Away shalt thou escape with 


pests, here 


me; 


Among my sea-weeds lie asleep ! 


And Providence will grant thee 




grace 


The Town says: I am filled and 


Of all the days that were to be. 


fraught 




With tumult and with smoke and 


' Let no one in thy dwelling cower, 


care; 


In sombre vestments draped and 


My days with toil are over- 


veiled ; 


wrought, 


But let them welcome thy last 


And in my nights I gasp for air. 


hour, 




As thy first moments once they 


The Highway says: My wheel- 


hailed. 


tracks guide 




To the pale climates of the North; 


Without a cloud be there each 


Where my last milestone stands 


brow; 


abide 


There let the grave no shadow 


The people to their death gone 


cast ; 


forth. 



TRANSLATIONS 



Here in the shade this life of ours, 


brooklet, let my sorrows past 


Full of delicious air, glides by 


Lie all forgotten in their graves, 


Amid a multitude of flowers 


Till in my thoughts remain at last 


As countless as the stars on high ; 


Only thy peace, thy flowers, thy 




waves. 


These red-tiled roofs, this fruitful 




soil, 


The lily by thy margin waits ; — 


Bathed with an azure all divine, 


The nightingale, the marguerite ; 


Where springs the tree that gives 


In shadow here he meditates 


us oil, 


His nest, his love, his music 


The grape that giveth us the wine ; 


sweet. 


Beneath these mountains stripped 


Near thee the self-collected soul 


of trees, 


Knows naught of error or of 


Whose tops with flowers are cov- 


crime ; 


ered o'er, 


Thy waters, murmuring as they 


Where springtime of the Hesper- 


roll, 


ides 


Transform his musings into 


Begins, but endeth nevermore ; 


rhyme. 


Under these leafy vaults and 


Ah, when, on bright autumnal 


walls, 


eves, 


That unto gentle sleep persuade ; 


Pursuing still thy course, shall I 


This rainbow of the waterfalls, 


• List the soft shudder of the leaves, 


Of mingled mist and sunshine 


And hear the lapwing's plaintive 


made; 


cry? 


Upon these shores, where all in- 




vites, 


BARRAGES 


We live our languid life apart; 




This air is that of life's delights, 


BY LEFRANC DE POMPIGKAN 


The festival of sense and heart ; 






I leave you, ye cold mountain 


This limpid space of time prolong, 


chains, 


Forget to-morrow in to-day, 


Dwelling of warriors stark and 


And leave unto the passing throng 


frore ! 


The Sea, the Town, and the High- 


You, may these eyes behold no 


way. 


more, 




Save on the horizon of our plains. 


TO MY BEOOKLET 


Vanish, ye frightful, gloomy views ! 




Ye rocks that mount up to the 


(A MON RtJISSEAU) 


clouds ! 




Of skies, enwrapped in misty 


BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCIS 


shrouds, 




Impracticable avenues ! 


Thou brooklet, all unknown to 




song, 


Ye torrents, that with might and 


Hid in the covert of the wood ! 


main 


Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng, 


Break pathways through the 


Like thee I love the solitude. 


rooky walls, 



AT LA CHAUDEAU 



829 



With your terrific waterfalls 
Fatigue 110 more my weary brain ! 

Arise, ye landscapes full of charms, 
Arise, ye pictures of delight ! 
Ye brooks, that water in your 
flight 
The flowers and harvests of our 
farms ! 

You I perceive, ye meadows green, 
Where the Garonne the lowland 

fills, 
Not far from that long chain of 
hills, 
With intermingled vales between. 

Yon wreath of smoke, that mounts 
so high, 
Methinks from my own hearth 

must come ; 
With speed, to that heloved 
home, 
Fly, ye too lazy coursers, fly ! 

And bear me thither, where the 
soul 
In quiet may itself possess, 
Where all things soothe the 
mind's distress, 
Where all things teach me and 
console. 



WILL EVER THE DEAR DAYS 
COME BACK AGAIN? 

Will ever the dear days come 

back again, 
Those days of June, when lilacs 

were in bloom, 
And bluebirds sang their sonnets 

in the gloom 
Of leaves that roofed them in 
• from sun or rain ? 
I know not; but a presence will 

remain 
Forever and forever in this room, 
Formless, diffused in air ; like a 

perfume, — 
A phantom of the heart, and not 

the brain. 



Delicious days ! when every spoken 

word 
Was like a footfall nearer and 

more near, 
And a mysterious knocking at 

the gate 
Of the heart's secret places, and we 

heard 
In the sweet tumult of delight 

and fear 
A voice that whispered, ' Open, I 

cannot wait ! ' 



AT LA CHAUDEAU 

BY XAVIER MAKMIER 

At La Chaudeau, — 't is long since 

then : 
I was young, — my years twice 

ten; 
All things smiled on the happy 

hoy, 
Dreams of love and songs of joy, 
Azure of heaven and wave below, 
At La Chaudeau. 

To La Chaudeau I come back 

old: 
My head is gray, my blood is cold ; 
Seeking along the meadow ooze, 
Seeking beside the river Seymouse, 
The days of my spring-time of long 

ago 

At La Chaudeau. 

At La Chaudeau nor heart nor 
brain 

Ever grows old with grief and 
pain ; 

A sweet remembrance keeps off 
age; 

A tender friendship doth still as- 
suage 

The burden of sorrow that one 
may know 

At La Chaudeau. 

At La Chaudeau, had fate decreed 
To limit the wandering life I lead, 



8 3 o 



TRANSLATIONS 



Peradventure I still, forsooth, 


THE WINE OF JUKANCON 


Should have preserved my fresh 




green youth 


BY CHARLES COHAN 


Under the shadows the hill-tops 




throw 


Little sweet wine of Jurancon, 


At La Chaucleau. 


You are dear to my memory still ! 




With mine host and his merry 


At La Chaudeau, live on, my 


song, 


friends, 


Under the rose-tree I drank my 


Happy to be where God intends ; 


fill. 


And sometimes, hy the evening 




fire, 


Twenty years after, passing that 


Think of him whose sole desire 


way, 


Is again to sit in the old cha- 


Under the trellis I found again 


teau 


Mine host, still sitting there au 


At La Chaudeau. 


frais, 




And singing still the same re- 




frain. 




The Jurancon, so fresh and bold, 


A QUIET LIFE 


Treats me as one it used to 




know ; 


Let him who will, by force or 


Souvenirs of the days of old 


fraud innate, 


Already from the bottle flow. 


Of courtly grandeurs gain the 




slippery height ; 


With glass in hand our glances 


I, leaving not the home of my 


met ; 


delight, 


We pledge, we drink. How sour 


Far from the world and noise 


it is! 


will meditate. 


Never Argenteuil piquette 


Then, without pomps or perils of 


Was to my palate sour as this ! 


the great, 




I shall behold the day succeed 


And yet the vintage was good, in 


the night ; 


sooth ; 


Behold the alternate seasons 


The self-same juice, the self-same 


take their flight, 


cask! 


And in serene repose old age 


It was you, gayety of my youth, 


await. 


That failed in the autumnal 


And so, whenever Death shall 


flask ! 


come to close 




The happy moments that my 




days compose, 


FEIAE LUBIN 


I, full of years, shall die, obscure, 
alone ! 


(Le Frere Lubin) 


How wretched is the man, with 


BY CLEMENT MAROT 


honors crowned, 




Who, having not the one thing 


To gallop off to town post-haste, 


needful found, 


So oft, the times I cannot tell ; 


Dies, known to all, but to him- 


To do vile deed, nor feel dis. 


u self unknown. 


graced,— 



THE CELESTIAL PILOT 



831 



Friar Lubin will do it well. 
But a sober life to lead, 

To bonor virtue, and pursue it, 
That 's a pious, Christian deed, — 

Friar Lubin cannot do it. 

To mingle, with a knowing smile, 

The goods of others with his 
own, 
And leave you without cross or 
pile, 

Friar Lubin stands alone. 
To say 't is yours is all in vain, 

If once he lays his finger to it ; 
For as to giving back again, 

Friar Lubin cannot do it. 

"With flattering words and gentle 
tone, 
To woo and win some guileless 
maid, 
Cunning pander need you none, — 

Friar Lubin knows the trade. 
Loud preacheth he sobriety, 

But as for water, doth eschew it ; 
Your dog may drink it, — but not 
he; 
Friar Lubin cannot do it. 

ENVOY 

When an evil deed 's to do 
Friar Lubin is stout and true ; 
Glimmers a ray of goodness 

through it, 
Friar Lubin cannot do it. 



RONDEL 

BY JEAN FROISSART 

Love, love, what wilt thou with 

this heart of mine ? 
Naught see I fixed or sure in 

thee! 
I do not know thee, — nor what 

deeds are thine : 
Love, love, what wilt thou with 

this heart of mine ? 
Naught see I fixed or sure in 

thee! 



Shall I be mute, or vows with 
prayers combine ? 
Ye who are blessed in loving, tell 
it me: 
Love, love, what wilt thou with 
this heart of mine? 
Naught see I permanent or sure 
in thee ! 



MY SECRET 

BY FELIX ARVERS 

My soul its secret has, my life too 
has its mystery, 

A love eternal in a moment's space 
conceived ; 

Hopeless the evil is, I have not 
told its history, 

And she who was the cause nor 
knew it nor believed. 

Alas ! I shall have passed close by 
her unperceived, 

Forever at her side, and yet for- 
ever lonely, 

I shall unto the end have made 
life's journey, only 

Daring to ask for naught, and hav- 
ing naught received. 

For her, though God has made her 
gentle and endearing, 

She will go on her way distraught 
and without hearing 

These murmurings of love that 
round her steps ascend, 

Piously faithful still unto her aus- 
tere duty, 

Will say, when she shall read these 
lines full of her beauty, 

'Who can this woman be?' and 
will not comprehend. 



FROM THE ITALIAN 

THE CELESTIAL PILOT 

PURGATORIO II. 13-51. 

And now, behold! as at the ap> 
proach of morning, 



^ 



TRANSLATIONS 



Through the gross vapors, Mars 
grows fiery red 

Down in the west upon the ocean 
floor, 
Appeared to me, — may I again be- 
hold it ! 

A light along the sea, so swiftly 
coming, 

Its motion by no flight of wing is 
equalled. 
And when therefrom I had with- 
drawn a little 

Mine eyes, that I might question 
my conductor, 

Again I saw it brighter grown 
and larger. 
Thereafter, on all sides pf it, ap- 
peared 

I knew not what of white, and 
underneath, 

Little by little, there came forth 
another. 
My master yet had uttered not a 
word, 

While the first whiteness into 
wings unfolded ; 

But, when he clearly recognized 
the pilot, 
He cried aloud : ' Quick, quick, and 
bow the knee ! 

Behold the Angel of God! fold 
up thy hands ! 

Henceforward shalt thou see 
such officers ! 
See, how he scorns all human argu- 
ments, 

So that no oar he wants, nor 
other sail 

Than his own wings, between so 
distant shores ! 
See, how he holds them, pointed 
straight to heaven, 

Fanning the air with the eternal 
pinions, 

That do not moult themselves 
like mortal hair!' 
And then, as nearer and more near 
us came 

The Bird of Heaven, more glori- 
ous he appeared, i 



So that the eye could not sustain 

his presence, 
But down I cast it ; and he came 

to shore 
With a small vessel, gliding 

swift and light, 
So that the water swallowed 

naught thereof. 
Upon the stern stood the Celestial 

Pilot ! 
Beatitude seemed written in his 

face! 
And more than a hundred spirits 

sat within. 
' In exitu Israel de JEgypto ! ' 
Thus sang they all together in 

one voice, 
With whatso in that Psalm is 

after written. 
Then made he sign of holy rood 

upon them, 
Whereat all cast themselves 

upon the shore, 
And he departed swiftly as he 

came. 



THE TERRESTRIAL PARA- 
DISE 

PURGATOKIO XXVIII. 
1-33. 

Longing already to search in and 

round 
The heavenly forest, dense and 

living-green, 
Which tempered to the eyes the 

new-born day, 
Withouten more delay I left the 

bank, 
Crossing the level country 

slowly, slowly, 
Over the soil, that everywhere 

breathed fragrance. 
A gently-breathing air, that no 

mutation 
Had in itself, smote me upon the 

forehead 



BEATRICE 



833 



No heavier blow than of a plea- 
sant breeze, 
Whereat the tremulous branches 

readily 
Did all of them bow downward 

towards that side 
Where its first shadow casts the 

Holy Mountain ; 
Yet not from their upright direc- 
tion bent 
So that the little birds upon their 

tops 
Should cease the practice of their 

tuneful art : 
But, with full-throated joy, the 

hours of prime 
Singing received they in the 

midst of foliage 
That made monotonous burden 

to their rhymes, 
Even as from branch to branch it 

gathering swells, 
Through the pine forests on the 

shore of Chiassi, 
When ^Eolus unlooses the Si- 
rocco. 
Already my slow steps had led me 

on 
Into the ancient wood so far, 

that I 
Could see no more the place 

where I had entered. 
And lo ! my further course cut off 

a river, 
Which, tow'rds the left hand, 

with its little waves, 
Bent down the grass, that on its 

margin sprang. 
All waters that ou earth most 

limpid are, 
Would seem to have within 

themselves some mixture, 
Compared with that, which no- 
thing doth conceal, 
Although it moves on with a 

brown, brown current, 
Under the shade perpetual, that 

never 
Kay of the sun lets in, nor of the 

moon. 



BEATRICE 

PURGATORIO XXX. 13-33, 85-99, 
XXXI. 13-21. 

Even as the Blessed, at the final 

summons, 
Shall rise up quickened, each 

one from his grave, 
Wearing again the garments of 

the flesh, 
So, upon that celestial chariot, 
A hundred rose ad vocem tanti 

senis, 
Ministers and messengers of life 

eternal. 
They all were saying, ' Benedlctus 

qui venisS 
And scattering flowers above 

and round about, 
' Manibus o date lilia plenisS 
Oft have I seen, at the approach of 

day, 
The orient sky all stained with 

roseate hues, 
And the other heaven with light 

serene adorned, 
And the sun's face uprising, over- 
shadowed, 
So that, by temperate influence 

of vapors, 
The eye sustained his aspect for 

long while ; 
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of 

flowers, 
Which from those hands angelic 

were thrown up, 
And down descended inside and 

without, 
With crown of olive o'er a snow- 
white veil, 
Appeared a lady, under a green 

mantle, 
Vested in colors of the living 

flame. 

Even as the snow, among the liv- 
ing rafters 
Upon the back of Italy, congeals, 
Blown on and beaten by Scla- 
vonian winds, 



834 



TRANSLATIONS 



And then, dissolving, niters 

through itself, 
Whene'er the land, that loses 

shadow, breathes, 
Like as a taper melts before a 

fire, 
Even such I was, without a sigh or 

tear, 
Before the song of those who 

chime forever 
After the chiming of the eternal 

spheres ; 
But, when I heard in those sweet 

melodies 
Compassion for me, more than 

had they said, 
'Oh wherefore, lady, dost thou 

thus consume him ? ' 
The ice, that was about my heart 

congealed, 
To air and water changed, and, 

in my anguish, 
Through lips and eyes came 

gushing from my breast. 

Confusion and dismay, together 

mingled, 
Forced such a feeble ' Yes ! ' out 

of my mouth, 
To understand it one had need 

of sight. 
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 

't is discharged, 
Too tensely drawn the bow- 
string and the bow, 
And with less force the arrow 

hits the mark ; 
So I gave way beneath this heavy 

burden, 
Gushing forth into bitter tears 

and sighs, 
And the voice, fainting, flagged 

upon its passage. 



TO ITALY 
BY VINCBNZO DA FILICAJA 

Italy i Italy I thou who 'rt 
doomed to wear 



The fatal gift of beauty, and 
possess 

The dower funest of infinite 
wretchedness 

Written upon thy forehead by 
despair ; 
Ah ! would that thou wert stronger, 
or less fair, 

That they might fear thee more, 
or love thee less, 

Who in the splendor of thy love- 
liness 

Seem wasting, yet to mortal com- 
bat dare ! 
Then from the Alps I should not 
see descending 

Such torrents of armed men, nor 
Gallic horde 

Drinking the wave of Po, dis- 
tained with gore, 
Nor should I see thee girded with 
a sword 

Not thine, and with the stran- 
ger's arm contending, 

Victor or vanquished, slave for- 
evermore. 



SEVEN SONNETS AND A 
CANZONE 

The following translations are from 
the poems of Michael Angelo as revised 
by his nephew, Michael Angelo the 
Younger, and were made before the 
publication of the original text by 
Guasti. 



THE ARTIST 

Nothing the greatest artist can 
conceive 

That every marble block doth 
not confine 

Within itself; and only its de- 
sign 

The hand that follows intellect 
can achieve. 
The ill I flee, the good that I be- 
lieve, 

In thee, fair lady, lofty and di 
vine, 



SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE 



835 



Thus hidden lie; and so that 

death be mine, 
Art, of desired success, doth me 

bereave. 
£,ove is not guilty, then, nor thy 

fair face, 
Nor fortune, cruelty, nor great 

disdain, 
Of my disgrace, nor chance nor 

destiny, 
If in thy heart both death and 

love find place 
At the same time, and if my 

humble brain, 
Burning, can nothing draw but 

death from thee. 



FIRE 

Not without fire can any work- 
man mould 

The iron to his preconceived de- 
sign, 

Nor can the artist without fire 
refine 

And purify from all its dross the 
gold; 
Nor can revive the phoenix, we are 
told, 

Except by fire. Hence, if such 
death be mine, 

I hope to rise again with the 
divine, 

Whom death augments, and time 
x cannot make old. 
O sweet, sweet death ! O fortu- 
nate fire that burns 

Within me still to renovate my 
days, 

Though I am almost numbered 
with the dead ! 
If by its nature unto heaven re- 
turns 

This element, me, kindled in its 
blaze, 

Will it bear upward when my 
life is fled. 



YOUTH AND AGE 

Oh give me back the days when 

loose and free 
To my blind passion were the 

curb and rein, 
Oh give me back the angelic 

face again, 
With which all virtue buried 

seems to be ! 
Oh give my panting footsteps back 

to me, 
That are in age so slow and 

fraught with pain, 
And fire and moisture in the 

heart and brain, 
If thou wouldst have me burn 

and weep for thee ! 
If it be true thou livest alone, 

Amor, 
On the sweet-bitter tears of hu- 
man hearts, 
In an old man thou canst not 

wake desire ; 
Souls that have almost reached 

the other shore 
Of a diviner love should feel the 

darts, 
And be as tinder to a holier 

fire. 



IV 

OLD AGE 

The course of my long life hath 
reached at last, 

In fragile bark o'er a tempestu- 
ous sea, 

The common harbor, where 
must rendered be 

Account of all the actions of the 
past. 
The impassioned phantasy, that, \ 
vague and vast, 

Made art an idol and a king to 
me, 



8 3 6 



TRANSLATIONS 



Was an illusion, and but van- 


VI 


ity 
Were the desires that lured me 


TO VITTORIA COLONNA 


and harassed. 


When the prime mover of my 


The dreams of love, that were so 


many sighs 


sweet of yore, 


Heaven took through death from 


What are they now, when two 


out her earthly place, 


deaths may be mine,— 


Nature, that never made so fair 


One sure, and one forecasting its 


a face, 


alarms ? 


Eemained ashamed, and tears 


Painting and sculpture satisfy no 


were in all eyes. 


more 


fate, unheeding my impassioned 


The soul now turning to the 


cries ! 


Love Divine, 


hopes fallacious ! thou spirit 


That oped, to embrace us, on 


of grace, 


the cross its arms. 


Where art thou now? Earth 




holds in its embrace 




Thy lovely limbs, thy holy 


V 


thoughts the skies. 




Vainly did cruel death attempt to 


TO VITTORIA COLONNA 


stay 




The rumor of thy virtuous re- 


Lady, how can it chance — yet 


nown, 


this we see 


That Lethe's waters could not 


In long experience — that will 


wash away ! 


longer last 


A thousand leaves, since he hath 


A living image carved from 


stricken thee down, 


quarries vast 


Speak of thee, nor to thee could 


Than its own maker, who dies 


Heaven convey, 


presently ? 


Except through death, a refuge 


Cause yieldeth to effect if this so 
be, 
And even Nature is by Art sur- 


and a crown. 




passed ; 


VII 


This know I, who to Art have 


DANTE 


given the past, 




But see that Time is breaking 


What should be said of him can- 


faith with me. 


not be said ; 


Perhaps on both of us long life 


By too great splendor i 


can I 


name attended ; 


Either in color or in stone be- 


To blame is easier those 


stow, 


him offended, 


By now portraying each in look 


Than reach the faintest g. 


and mien ; 


round him shed. 


So that a thousand years after we 


This man descended to the doomed 


die, 


and dead 


How fair thou wast, and I how 


For our instruction ; then to God 


full of woe, 


ascended ; 


And wherefore I so loved thee, 


Heaven opened wide to him its 


may be seen. 


portals splendid, 



SONG 



837 



Who from his country's, closed 


Love was not felt till noble heart 


against him, tied. 


beat high, 


Ungrateful land ! To its own preju- 


Nor before love the noble heart 


dice 


was made. 


Nurse of his fortunes ; and this 


Soon as the sun's broad flame 


showeth well 


Was formed, so soon the clear 


That the most perfect most of 


light filled the air : 


grief shall see. 


Yet was not till he came : 


Among a thousand proofs let one 


So love springs up in noble breasts, 


suffice, 


and there 


That as his exile hath no paral- 


Has its appointed space, 


lel, 


As heat in the bright flames finds 


Ne'er walked the earth a greater 


its allotted place. 


man than he. 


Kindles in noble heart the fire of 




love, 




As hidden virtue in the precious 


VIII 


stone : 




This virtue comes not from the 


CANZONE 


stars above, 




Till round it the ennobling sun 


Ah me ! ah me ! when thinking of 


has shone ; 


the years, 


But when his powerful blaze 


The vanished years, alas, I do 


Has drawn forth what was vile, 


not And 


the stars impart 


Among them all one day that 


Strange virtue in their rays ; 


was my own ! 


And thus when Nature doth create 


Fallacious hopes, desires of the 


the heart 


unknown, 


Noble and pure and high, 


Lamenting, loving, burning, and 


Like virtue from the star, love 


in tears, 


comes from woman's eye. 


(For human passions all have 




stirred my mind,) 




Have held me, now I feel and 
know, confined 


FROM THE PORTUGUESE 


Both from the true and good still 




far away. 


SONG 


I perish day by day ; 




The sunshine fails, the shadows 


BY GIL VICENTE 


grow more dreary, 




And I am near to fall, infirm and 


If thou art sleeping, maiden, 


weary. 


Awake, and open thy door. 




'T is the break of day, and we 




must away, 


THE NATURE OF LOVE 


O'er meadow, and mount, and 




moor. 


BY GUIDO GUINIZELLI 






Wait not to find thy slippers, 


To noble heart Love doth for shel- 


But come with thy naked feet : 


ter fly, 


We shall have to pass through the 


As seeks the bird the forest's leafy 


dewy grass, 


shade ; 


And waters wide and fleet. 



838 



TRANSLATIONS 



FROM EASTERN SOURCES 
THE FUGITIVE 
A TARTAR SONG 



'He is gone to the desert land ! 
I can see the shining mane 
Of his horse on the distant plain, 
As he rides with his Kossak band ! 

' Come back, rebellious one ! 
Let thy proud heart relent ; 
Come back to my tall, white tent, 
Come back, my only son ! 

4 Thy hand in freedom shall 

Cast thy hawks, when morning 

breaks, 
On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of Karajal. 

' I will give thee leave to stray 
And pasture thy hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the reeds 
Of the meadows of Karaday. 

4 1 will give thee my coat of mail, 
Of softest leather made, 
With choicest steel inlaid ; 
Will not all this prevail? ' 

11 

' This hand no longer shall 

Cast my hawks, when morning 

breaks, 
On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of Karajal. 

' I will no longer stray 
And pasture my hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the reeds 
Of the meadows of Karaday. 

'Though thou give me thy coat of 

mail, 
Of softest leather made, 
With choicest steel inlaid, 
All this cannot prevail. 



1 What right hast thou, O Khan, 
To me, who am mine own, 
Who am slave to God alone, 
And not to any man? 

' God will appoint the day 
When I again shall be 
By the blue, shallow sea, 
Where the steel-bright sturgeons 
play. 

' God, who doth care for me, 
In the barren wilderness, 
On unknown hills, no less 
Will my companion be. 

' When I wander lonely and lost 
In the wind; when I watch at 

night 
Like a hungry wolf, and am white 
And covered with hoar-frost ; 

' Yea, wheresoever I be, 
In the yellow desert sands, 
In mountains or unknown lands, 
Allah will care for me ! ' 

in 

Then Sobra, the old, old man,— 
Three hundred and sixty years 
Had he lived in this land of tears, 
Bowed down and said, ' O Khan ! 

' If you bid me, I will speak. 
There 's no sap in dry grass, 
No marrow in dry bones ! Alas, 
The mind of old men is weak ! 

4 1 am old, I am very old : 

I have seen the primeval man, 

I have seen the great Genghis 

Khan, 
Arrayed in his robes of gold. 

' What I say to you is the truth ; 
And I say to you, O Khan, 
Pursue not the star-white man, 
Pursue not the beautiful youth. 

4 Him the Almighty made, 
And brought him forth of the 
light 



THE BOY AND THE BROOK 



839 



At the verge and end of the night, 
When men on the mountain 
prayed. 

s He was born at the break of day, 
When abroad the angels walk ; 
He hath listened to their talk, 
And he knoweth what they say. 

' Gifted with Allah's grace, 
Like the moon of Eamazan 
When it shines in the skies, O 

Khan, 
Is the light of his beautiful face. 

4 When first on earth he trod, 
The first words that he said 
Were these, as he stood and 

prayed, 
" There is no God but God !" 

' And he shall be king of men, 
For Allah hath heard his prayer, 
And the Archangel in the air, 
Gabriel, hath said, Amen ! ' 



THE SIEGE OF KAZAN 

Black are the moors before Ka- 
zan, 
And their stagnant waters smell 
of blood : 
I said in my heart, with horse and 
man, 
I will swim across this shallow 
fiood. 

Under the feet of Argamack, 
Like new moons were the shoes 
he bare, 
Silken trappings hung on his back, 
In a talisman on his neck, a 
prayer. 

My warriors, thought I, are follow- 
ing me ; 
But when I looked behind, alas ! 
Not one of all the band could I see, 
All had sunk in the black mo- 
rass ! 



Where are our shallow fords ? and 
where 
The power of Kazan with its 
fourfold gates ? 
From the prison windows our 
maidens fair 
Talk of us still through the iron 
grates. 

We cannot hear them; for horse 
and man 
Lie buried deep in the dark 
abyss ! 
Ah ! the black day hath come down 
on Kazan ! 
Ah ! was ever a grief like this ? 



THE BOY AND THE BRO($£ 

Down" from yon distant mountain 
height 
The brooklet flows through the 
village street ; 
A boy comes forth to wash his 

hands, 
Washing, yes, washing, there he 
stands, 
In the water cool and sweet. 

Brook, from what mountain dost 
thou come ? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I come from yon mountain high 

and cold 
Where lieth the new snow on the 
old, 
And melts in the summer heat. 

Brook, to what river dost thou 
go? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I go to the river there below 
Where in bunches the violetf 
grow, 
And sun and shadow meet. 

Brook, to what garden dost thou, 
go? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet! 



840 



TRANSLATIONS 



I go to the garden in the vale 
"Where all night long the nightin- 
gale 
Her love-song doth repeat. 

Brook, to what fountain dost thou 

go? 
O my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I go to the fountain at whose 

brink 
The maid that loves thee comes to 

drink, 
And whenever she looks therein, 
I rise to meet her, and kiss her 

chin, 
And my joy is then complete. 



TO THE STORK 

■Welcome, O Stork! that dost 
wing 
Thy flight from the far-away ! 
Thou hast brought us the signs of 
Spring, 
Thou hast made our sad hearts 
gay. 

Descend, O Stork ! descend 
Upon our roof to rest ; 



In our ash-tree, O my friend, 
My darling, make thy nest. 

To thee, O Stork, I complain, 
O Stork, to thee I impart 

The thousand sorrows, the pain 
And aching of my heart. 

When thou away didst go, 
Away from this tree of ours, 

The withering winds did blow, 
And dried up all the flowers. 

Dark grew the brilliant sky, 
Cloudy and dark and drear; 

They were breaking the snow on 
high, 
And winter was drawing near. 

From Varaca's rocky wall, 
From the rock of Varaca un- 
rolled, 

The snow came and covered all, 
And the green meadow was cold. 

O Stork, our garden with snow 
Was hidden away and lost, 

And the rose-trees that in it grow 
Were withered by snow and 
frost. 



FROM THE LATIN 



VIRGIL'S FIEST ECLOGUE 



MELIBCEUS. 

Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spreading beech tree reclining 
Meditatest, with slender pipe, the Muse of the woodlands. 
We our country's bounds and pleasant pastures relinquish, 
We our country fly ; thou, Tityrus, stretched in the shadow, 
Teachest the woods to resound with the name of the fair Amaryllis. 

TITYRUS. 

O Meliboeus, a god for us this leisure created, 

For he will be unto me a god forever ; his altar 

Oftentimes shall imbue a tender lamb from our sheepfolds. 

He, my heifers to wander at large, and myself, as thou seest, 

On my rustic reed to play what I will, hath permitted. 10 



VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE 841 



MELIBCEUS. 

Truly I envy not, I marvel rather ; on all sides 
In all the fields is such trouble. Behold, my goats I am driving, 
Heartsick, further away ; this one scarce, Tityrus, lead I ; 
For having here yeaned twins just now among the dense hazels, 
Hope of the flock, ah me ! on the naked flint she hath left them. 
Often this evil to me, if my mind had not been insensate, 
Oak trees stricken by heaven predicted, as now I remember; 
Often the sinister crow from the hollow ilex predicted. 
Nevertheless, who this god may be, O Tityrus, tell me. 

TITYRUS. 

Melibceus, the city that they call Eome, I imagined, 20 
Foolish I ! to be like this of ours, where often we shepherds 
Wonted are to drive down of our ewes the delicate offspring. 

Thus wbelps like unto dogs had I known, and kids to their mothers, 
Thus to compare great things with small had I been accustomed. 
But this among other cities its head as far hath exalted 
As the cypresses do among the lissome viburnums. 

MELIBCEUS. 

And what so great occasion of seeing Eome hath possessed thee ? 

TITYRUS. 

Liberty, which, though late, looked upon me in my inertness, 

After the time when my beard fell whiter from me in shaving, 

Yet she looked upon me, and came to me after a long while, 30 

Since Amaryllis possesses and Galatea hath left me. 

For I will even confess that while Galatea possessed me 

Neither care of my flock nor hope of liberty was there. 

Though from my wattled folds there went forth many a victim, 

And the unctuous cheese was pressed for the city ungrateful, 

Never did my right hand return home heavy with money. 

MELIBCEUS. 

1 have wondered why sad thou invokedst the gods, Amaryllis, 
And for whom thou didst suffer the apples to hang on the branches ! 
Tityrus hence was absent ! Thee, Tityrus, even the pine trees, 
Thee the very fountains, the very copses were calling. 40 

TITYRUS. 

vVhat could I do? No power had I to escape from my bondage, 

Nor had I power elsewhere to recognize gods so propitious. 

Here I beheld that youth, to whom each year, Melibceus, 

During twice six days ascends the smoke of our altars. 

Here first gave he response to me soliciting favor : 

* Feed as before your heifers, ye boys, and yoke up your bullocks.* 

MELIBCEUS. 

Fortunate old man ! So then thy fields will be left thee, 

A.nd large enough for thee, though naked stone and the marish 



842 TRANSLATIONS 



All thy pasture-lands with the dreggy rush may encompass. 

No unaccustomed food thy gravid ewes shall endanger, 5a 

Nor of the neighboring flock the dire contagion infect them. 

Fortunate old man ! Here among familiar rivers, 

And these sacred founts, shalt thou take the shadowy coolness. 

On this side, a hedge along the neighboring cross-road, 

"Where Hyblsean bees ever feed on the flower of the willow, 

Often with gentle susurrus to fall asleep shall persuade thee. 

Yonder, beneath the high rock, the primer shall sing to the breezes, 

Nor meanwhile shall thy heart's delight, the hoarse wood-pigeons 4 

Nor the turtle-dove cease to mourn from aerial elm trees. 

TITYRUS. 

Therefore the agile stags shall sooner feed in the ether, 60 

And the billows leave the fishes bare on the sea-shore, 
Sooner, the border-lands of both overpassed, shall the exiled 
Parthian drink of the Soane, or the German drink of the Tigris, 
Than the face of him shall glide away from my bosom ! 

MELIBCEUS. 

But we hence shall go, a part to the thirsty Africs, 

Part to Scythia come, and the rapid Cretan Oaxes, 

And to the Britons from all the universe utterly sundered. 

Ah, shall I ever, a long time hence, the bounds of my country 

And the roof of my lowly cottage covered with greensward 69 

Seeing, with wonder behold, — my kingdoms, a handful of wheat-ears ! 

Shall an impious soldier possess these lands newly cultured, 

And these fields of corn a barbarian ? Lo, whither discord 

Us wretched people hath brought ! for whom our fields we have planted! 

Graft, Melibceus, thy pear trees now, put in order thy vineyards. 

Go, my goats, go hence, my flocks so happy aforetime. 

Never again henceforth outstretched in my verdurous cavern 

Shall I behold you afar from the bushy precipice hanging. 

Songs no more shall I sing ; not with me, ye goats, as your shepherd, 

Shall ye browse on the bitter willow or blooming laburnum. 

TITYRUS. 

Nevertheless, this night together with me canst thou rest thee 80 

Here on the verdant leaves ; for us there are mellowing apples, 
Chestnuts soft to the touch, and clouted cream in abundance ; 
And the high roofs now of the villages smoke in the distance, 
And from the lofty mountains are falling larger the shadows. 



OVID IN EXILE 

AT TOMIS, IN BESSARABIA, NEAR THE MOUTHS OF THE DANUBE 

Tristia, Book III., Elbot X. 

Should any one there in Rome remember Ovid the exile, 
And, Avithout me, my name still in the city survive; 



OVID IN EXILE 843 



Tell him that under stars which never set in the ocean 
I am existing still, here in a barbarous land. 

Fierce Sarmatians encompass me round, and the Bessi and Getae; 
Names how unworthy to be sung by a genius like mine ! 

Yet when the air is warm, intervening Ister defends us : 
He, as he flows, repels inroads of war with his waves. 

But when the dismal winter reveals its hideous aspect, 
When all the earth becomes white with a marble-like frost; 10 

And when Boreas is loosed, and the snow hurled under Arcturus, 
Then these nations, in sooth, shudder and shiver with cold. 

Deep lies the snow, and neither the sun nor the rain can dissolve it ; 
Boreas hardens it still, makes it forever remain. 

Hence, ere the first has melted away, another succeeds it. 
And two years it is wont, in many places, to lie. 

And so great is the power of the Northwind awakened, it levels 
Lofty towers with the ground, roofs uplifted bears off. 

"Wrapped in skins, and with trousers sewed, they contend with the 
weather, 
And their faces alone of the whole body are seen. 20 

Often their tresses, when shaken, with pendent icicles tinkle, 
And their whitened beards shine with the gathering frost. 

Wines consolidate stand, preserving the form of the vessels ; 
No more draughts of wine, — pieces presented they drink. 

Why should I tell you how all the rivers are frozen and solid, 
And from out of the lake frangible water is dug ? 

Ister, — no narrower stream than the river that bears the papyrus, — 
Which through its many mouths mingles its waves with the deep ; 

Ister, with hardening winds, congeals its cerulean waters. 
Under a roof of ice winding its way to the sea. 30 

There where ships have sailed, men go on foot ; and the billows, 
Solid made by the frost, hoof-beats of horses indent. 

Over unwonted bridges, with water gliding beneath them, 
The Sarmatian steers drag their barbarian carts. 

Scarcely shall I be believed ; yet when naught is gained by a falsehood, 
Absolute credence then should to a witness be given. 



844 TRANSLATIONS 



I have beheld the vast Black Sea of ice all compacted, 
And a slippery crust pressing its motionless tides. 

'T is not enough to have seen, I have trodden this indurate ocean ; 
Dry shod passed my foot over its uppermost wave. 40 

If thou hadst had of old such a sea as this is, Leander ! 
Then thy death had not been charged as a crime to the Strait. 

Nor can the curved dolphins uplift themselves from the water; 
All their struggles to rise merciless winter prevents ; 

And though Boreas sound with roar of wings in commotion, 
In the blockaded gulf never a wave will there be ; 

And the ships will stand hemmed in by the frost, as in marble, 
Nor will the oar have power through the stiff waters to cleave. 

Fast-bound in the ice have I seen the fishes adhering, 
Yet notwithstanding this some of them still were alive. 50 

Hence, if the savage strength of omnipotent Boreas freezes 
"Whether the salt-sea wave, whether the refluent stream, — 

Straightway, — the Ister made level by arid blasts of the North-wind, — 
Comes the barbaric foe borne on his swift-footed steed ; 

Foe, that powerful made by his steed and his far-flying arrows, 
All the neighboring land void of inhabitants makes. 

Some take flight, and none being left to defend their possessions, 
Unprotected, their goods pillage and plunder become ; 

Cattle and creaking carts, the little wealth of the country, 
And what riches beside indigent peasants possess. 60 

Some as captives are driven along, their hands bound behind them, 
Looking backward in vain toward their Lares and lands. 

Others, transfixed with barbed arrows, in agony perish. 
For the swift arrow-heads all have in poison been dipped. 

What they cannot carry or lead away they demolish, 
And the hostile flames burn up the innocent cots. 

Even when there is peace, the fear of war is impending ; 
None, with the ploughshare pressed, furrows the soil any more. 

Either this region sees, or fears a foe that it sees not, 
And the sluggish land slumbers in utter neglect. 70 



OVID IN EXILE 845 



No sweet grape lies hidden here in the shade of its vine-leaves, 
No fermenting must fills and o'erflows the deep vats. 

Apples the region denies ; nor would Acontius have found here 
Aught upon which to write words for his mistress to read. 

Paired and barren plains without leaves or trees we behold here, 
Places, alas ! unto which no happy man would repair. 

Since then this mighty orb lies open so wide upon all sides, 
Has this region been found only my prison to be ? 



Teistia, Book III., Elegy XII. 

Now the zephyrs diminish the cold, and the year being ended, 
Winter Mseotian seems longer than ever before ; 8c 

And the Ram that bore unsafely the burden of Helle, 
Now makes the hours of the day equal with those of the night. 

Now the boys and the laughing girls the violet gather, 
Which the fields bring forth, nobody sowing the seed. 

Now the meadows are blooming with flowers of various colors, 
And with untaught throats carol the garrulous birds. 

Now the swallow, to shun the crime of her merciless mother, 
Under the rafters builds cradles and dear little homes ; 

And the blade that lay hid, covered up in the furrows of Ceres, 
Now from the tepid ground raises its delicate head. 90 

Where there is ever a vine, the bud shoots forth from the tendrils, 
But from the Getic shore distant afar is the vine I 

Where there is ever a tree, on the tree the branches are swelling, 
But from the Getic land distant afar is the tree ! 

Now it is holiday there in Rome, and to games in due order 
Give place the windy wars of the vociferous bar. 

Now they are riding the horses ; with light arms now they are playing, 
Now with the ball, and now round rolls the swift-flying hoop : 

Now, when the young athlete with flowing oil is anointed, 
He in the Virgin's Fount bathes, overwearied, his limbs. 10a 

Thrives the stage ; and applause, with voices at variance, thunders, 
And the Theatres three for the three Forums resound. 



846 TRANSLATIONS 



Four times happy is he, and times without number is happy, 
Who the city of Eome, uninterdictecl, enjoys. 

But all I see is the snow in the vernal sunshine dissolving, 
And the waters no more delved from the indurate lake. 

Nor is the sea now frozen, nor as before o'er the Ister 
Comes the Sarmatian boor driving his stridulous cart. 

Hitherward, nevertheless, some keels already are steering, 
And on this Pontic shore alien vessels will be. u« 

Eagerly shall I run to the sailor, and, having saluted, 
Who he may be, I shall ask ; wherefore and whence he hath come. 

Strange indeed will it be, if he come not from regions adjacent, 
And incautious unless ploughing the neighboring sea. 

Barely a mariner over the deep from Italy passes, 
Rarely he comes to these shores, wholly of harbors devoid. 

Whether he knoweth Greek, or whether in Latin he speaketh, 
Surely on this account he the more welcome will be. 

Also perchance from the mouth of the Strait and the waters Propon- 
tic, 
Unto the steady South-wind, some one is spreading his sails. 120 

Whosoever he is, the news he can faithfully tell me, 
Which may become a part and an approach to the truth. 

He, I pray, maybe able to tell me the triumphs of Caesar, 
Which be has heard of, and vows paid to the Latian Jove ; 

And that thy sorrowful head, Germania, thou, the rebellious, 
Under the feet, at last, of the Great Captain hast laid. 

Whoso shall tell me these things, that not to have seen will afflict me, 
Forthwith unto my house welcomed as guest shall he be. 

Woe is me ! Is the house of Ovid in Scythian lands now ? 
And doth punishment now give me its place for a home ? 130 

Grant, ye gods, that Caesar make tbis not my house and my homestead, 
But decree it to be only the inn of my pain. 



INDEXES 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



A BLrsD man is a poor man, and blind 

a poor man is, 810. 
A fleet with flags arrayed, 440. 
After so long an absence, 384. 
A gentle boy, with soft and silken 

locks, 384. 
A handful of red sand, from the hot 

clime, 132. 
Ah, how short are the days ! How soon 

the night overtakes us, 351. 
Ah, Love, 53. 
Ah me ! ah me ! when thinking of the 

years, 837. 
Ah ! thou moon that shinest, 52. 
Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me, 

127. 
A little bird in the air, 295. 
Allah gives light in darkness, 812. 
All are architects of Fate, 132. 
All are sleeping, weary heart, 45. 
All day has the battle raged, 300. 
All houses wherein men have lived and 

died, 240. 
All the old gods are dead, 289. 
Am I a king, that I should call my 

own, 447. 
A mill-stone and the human heart are 

driven ever round, 810. 
A mist was driving down the British 

Channel, 239. 
Among the many lives that I have 

known, 416. 
An angel with a radiant face, 826. 
And King Olaf heard the cry, 280. 
And now, behold ! as at the approach 

of morning, 831. 
And thou, O River of To-morrow, flow- 
ing, 418. 
And when the kings were in the field, 

— their squadrons in array, 784. 
And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, 

815. 
Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, 



An old man in a lodge within a park, 

410. 
Arise, O righteous Lord, 682. 
As a fond mother, when the day is 

o'er, 414. 
As a pale phantom with a lamp, 458. 
A soldier of the Union mustered out, 

413. 
As one who long hath fled with panting 

breath, 458. 
As one who, walking in the twilight 

gloom, 119. 
As the birds come in the Spring, 454. 
As treasures that men seek, 773. 
As unto the bow the cord is, 168. 
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 

257. 
At Atri, in Abruzzo, a small town, 315. 
At Drontheim, Olaf the King, 291. 
At La Chaudeau, — 't is long since 

then, 829. 
At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 324. 
At the foot of the mountain height, 

818. 
A vision as of crowded city streets, 

411. 
Awake ! arise ! the hour is late, 467. 
Awake, O north-wind, 477. 
A wind came up out of the sea, 253. 
A youth, light-hearted and content, 

806. 

Barabbas is my name, 520. 
Baron Castine of St. Castine, 335. 
Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, 

373. 
Beautiful valley ! through whose ver 

dant meads, 423. 
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, 

455. 
Behold '. a giant am I, 453. 
Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 804. 
Beside the ungathered rice he lay. 

23. 



850 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Between the dark and the daylight, 

255. 
Beware! the Israelite of old, who 

tore, 27. 
Black are the moors before Kazan, 839. 
Black shadows fall, 235. 
Blind Bartimeus at the gates, 20, 509. 
Build me straight, O worthy Master, 

120. 
Burn, O evening hearth, and waken, 

375. 
But yesterday these few and hoary 

leaves, 652. 
By his evening fire the artist, 134. 
By the shore of Gitche Gmnee, 207. 

Can it be the sun descending, 175. 
Centuries old are the mountains, 395. 
Christ to the young man said : Yet one 

thing more, 137. 
Clear fount of light ! my native land 

on high, 781. 
Come from thy caverns dark and deep, 

396. 
Come, my beloved, 476. 
Come, O Death, so silent flying, 786. 
Come, old friend ! sit down and listen, 

84. 
Come to me, O ye children, 254. 

Dark is the morning with mist ; in the 
narrow mouth of the harbor, 450. 

Dead he lay among his books, 446. 

Dear child ! how radiant on thy mo- 
ther's knee, 75. 

Don Nuno, Count of Lara, 782. 

Dost thou see on the rampart's height, 
445. 

Dowered with all celestial gifts, 387. 

Down from yon distant mountain 
height, 839. 

Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 146. 

Each heart has its haunted chamber, 
383, 

Even as the Blessed, at the final sum- 
mons, 833. 

Evermore a sound shall be, 393. 

Every flutter of the wing, 393. 

Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 786. 

Far and wide among the nations, 197. 



Filled is Life's goblet to the brim, 

20. 
Flooded by rain and snow, 395. 
Flow on, sweet river I like his verse, 

465. 
Forms of saints and kings are standing, 

808. 
For thee was a house built, 812. 
Forth from the curtain of clouds, from 

the' tent of purple and scarlet, 232. 
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 161. 
Four by the clock ! and yet not day, 

461. 
Four limpid lakes, — four Naiades, 457. 
From the outskirts of the town, 384. 
From this high portal, where up- 

springs, 827. 
Full of wrath was Hiawatha, 192. 

Gaddi mi fece : il Ponte Vecchio sono, 

414. 
Garlands upon his grave, 422. 
Gentle Spring ! in sunshine clad, 816. 
Gently swaying to and fro, 392. 
Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree, 

159. 
Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of 

the mighty Omahas, 80. 
Glove of black in white hand bare, 

787. 
God sent his messenger the rain, 606. 
God sent his Singers upon earth, 137. 
Good night ! good night, beloved, 52. 
Guarding the mountains around, 395. 

Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled, 

332. 
Half of my life is gone, and I have let, 

86. 
Hark, hark, 815. 
Haste and hide thee, 393. 
Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 804. 
Have I dreamed ? or was it real, 237. 
Have you read in the Talmud of old, 

254. 
He is dead, the beautiful youth, 378. 
He is gone to the desert land ! 838. 
Here in a little rustic hermitage, 419. 
Here lies the gentle humorist, wh« 

died, 414. 
High on their turreted cliffs, 395. 
Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! 142. 
How beautiful is the rain, 74. 



INDEX OF FIRST LITRES 



851 



How beautiful it was, that one bright 

day, 376. 
How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! 448. 
How I started up in the night, in the 

night, 811. 
How many lives, made beautiful and 

sweet, 379. 
How much of my young heart, O Spain, 

436. 
How strange it seems ! These Hebrews 

in their graves, 244. 
How strange the sculptures that adorn 

these towers, 380. 
How the Titan, the defiant, 390. 
How they so softly rest, 802. 

I am poor and old and blind, 427. 

I am the God Thor, 280. 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom, 

380. 
If perhaps these rhymes of mine should 

sound not well in strangers' ears, 

810. 
If thou art sleeping, maiden, 65, 837. 
I have a vague remembrance, 384. 
I have read, in some old, marvellous 

tale, 6. 
I hear along our street, 825. 
I heard a brooklet gushing, 803. 
I heard a voice, that cried, 136. 
I heard the bells on Christmas Day, 

376. 
I heard the trailing garments of the 

Night, 2. 
I know a maiden fair to see, 803. 
I lay upon the headland-height, and 

listened, 374. 
I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, 

828. 
I lift mine eyes, and all the windows 

blaze, 381. 
1 like that ancient Saxon phrase, which 

calls, 19. 
In Attica thy birthplace should have 

been, 409. 
In broad daylight, and at noon, 243. 
In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp, 25. 
In hi3 chamber, weak and dying, 73. 
In his lodge beside a river, 204. 
In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 239. 
In Ocean's wide domains, 25. 
In St. Luke's Gospel we are told, 451. 



Intelligence and courtesy not always 

are combined, 810. 
In that building long and low, 248. 
In that desolate land and lone, 439. 
In the ancient town of Bruges, 67. 
In the convent of Drontheim, 300. 
In the heroic days when Ferdinand, 

302. 
In the long, sleepless watches of the 

night, 421. 
In the market-place of Bruges stands 

the belfry old and brown, 68. 
In the old churchyard of his native 

town, 454. 
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth 

the land of the Pilgrims, 211. 
In the valley of the Pegnitz, where 

across broad meadow-lands, 72. 
In the valley of the Vire, 245. 
In the village churchyard she lies, 241. 
In the workshop of Hephaestus, 387. 
In those days said Hiawatha, 183. 
In those days the Evil Spirits, 185. 
Into the city of Kambalu, 318. 
Into the darkness and the hush of 

night, 454. 
Into the open air Jehn Alden, per- 
plexed and bewildered, 218. 
Into the Silent Land, 804. 
I pace the sounding sea-beach and be- 
hold, 411. 
I said unto myself, if I were dead, 413. 
I saw, as in a dream sublime, 78. 
I saw the long line of the vacant shore, 

412. 
I see amid the fields of Ayr, 449. 
I shot an arrow into the air, 86. 
Is it so far from thee, 446. 
I sleep, but my heart awaketh, 474. 
I stand again on the familiar shore, 

409. 
I stand beneath the tree, whose 

branches shade, 419. 
I stood on the bridge at midnight, 79. 
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's 

wide arch, 11. 
Italy ! Italy ! thou who 'rt doomed to 

wear, 834. 
I thought this Pen would arise, 448. 
It is autumn ; not without, 457. 
It is the Harvest Moon ! On gilded 

vanes, 416. 



852 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



I trust that somewhere and somehow, 

320. 
It was Einar Tamberskelver, 299. 
It was fifty years ago, 253. 
It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 369. 
It was the schooner Hesperus, 15. 
It was the season, when through all the 

land, 307. 

Janus am I ; oldest of potentates, 455. 
Joy and Temperance and Repose, 810. 
Just above yon sandy bar, 127. 
Just in the gray of the dawn, as the 

mists uprose from the meadows, 

222. 

King Christian stood by the lofty mast, 
799. 

King Ring with his queen to the ban- 
quet did fare, 788. 

King Solomon, before his palace gate, 
242. 

Labor with what zeal we will, 258. 
Lady, how can it chance — yet this we 

see, 836. 
Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of bird 

and tree ! 782. 
Leafless are the trees ; their purple 

branches, 249. 
Let him who will, by force or fraud in- 
nate, 830. 
Let nothing disturb thee, 786. 
Like two cathedral towers these stately 

pines, 453. 
Listen, my children, and you shall 

hear, 264. 
Little sweet wine of Jurancon, 830. 
Live I, so live I, 810. 
Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, 

86. 
Longing already to search in and 

round, 832. 
Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing 

care, 781. 
Loud he sang the psalm of David, 25. 
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, 60. 
Loud the angry wind was wailing, 290. 
Loudly the sailors cheered, 296. 
Love, love, what wilt thou with this 

heart of mine ? 831. 
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful 

sound, 413. 



Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these 
creeds and doctrines three, 810. 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 

21. 
Man-like is it to fall into sin, 810. 
Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish 

was marching steadily northward, 

228. 
Month after month passed away, and 

in Autumn the ships of the mer- 
chants, 230. 
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 

441. 
Much it behoveth, 814. 
My beloved is white and ruddy, 475. 
My soul its secret has, my life too has 

its mystery, 831. 
My undefiled is but one, 475. 

Neglected record of a mind neglected, 

469. 
Never shall souls like these, 399. 
Never stoops the soaring vulture, 199. 
Nine sisters, beautiful in form and 

face, 415. 
No more shall I see, 790. 
Northward over Drontheim, 295. 
No sound of wheels or hoof -beat breaks, 

423. 
Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's 

throne, 386. 
Nothing that is shall perish utterly, 

705. 
Nothing the greatest artist can con- 
ceive, 834. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the 

hurrying pen of the stripling, 213. 
Not without fire can any workman 

mould, 835. 
Now from all King Olaf 's farms, 283. 
Nowhere such a devious stream, 428. 
Now Time throws off his cloak again, 

815. 

O Caesar, we who are about to die, 

403. 
O curfew of the setting sun ! O bells 

of Lynn ! 378. 
O'er all the hill-tops, 811. 
O faithful, indefatigable tides, 469. 
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord, 806. 
Of Prometheus, how undaunted, 236. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



853 



Often I think of the beautiful town, 

247. 
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door, 

380. 
Oft I remember those whom I have 

known, 463. 
O gift of God ! O perfect day, 258. 
O gladsome light, 543. 
hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how 

faithful are thy branches, 807. 
Oh, give me back the days when loose 

and free, 835. 
Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are 

ended, 811. 
Oh let the soul her slumbers break, 

773. 
Oh that a Song would sing itself to me, 

419. 
Oh, the long and dreary Winter, 202. 
Olaf the King, one summer morn, 286. 
Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 243. 
little feet ! that such long years, 

258. 
O Lord! who seest, from yon starry 

height, 781. 
O lovely river of Yvette, 439. 
Once into a quiet village, 135. 
Once more, once more, Inarime\ 438. 
Once on a time, some centuries ago, 

357. 
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 

242. 
Once upon Iceland's solitary strand, 

421. 
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 

259. 
One day, Haroun Al Raschid read, 442. 
One hundred years ago, and something 

more, 329. 
One morning, all alone, 540. 
One summer morning, when the sun 

was hot, 267. 
On King Olaf's bridal night, 287. 
On St. Bavon's tower, commanding, 

440. 
On sunny slope and beechen swell, 12. 
On the cross the dying Saviour, 809. 
On the gray sea-sands, 297. 
On the green little isle of Inchkenneth, 

442. 
On the Mountains of the Prairie, 139. 
On the shores of Oitche Gumee, 164. 
On the top of a mountain I stand, 60. 



O precious evenings ! all too swiftly 

sped, 136. 
O River of Yesterday, with current 

swift, 418. 
O star of morning and of liberty, 381. 
O sweet illusions of Song, 382. 
O there, the old sea-captain, 252. 
O traveller, stay thy weary feet, 468. 
Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, 

607. 
Out of childhood into manhood, 149. 
Out of the bosom of the Air, 257. 
O weathercock on the village spire, 

452. 
O ye dead Poets, who are living still, 

416. 

Padre Francisco, 35. 

Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. 

The church of the village, 790. 
Peradventure of old, some bard in 

Ionian Islands, 462. 
Pleasant it was, when woods were 

green, 1. 
Poet ! I come to touch thy lance with 

mine, 420. 

Quand les astres de Noel, 381. 
Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud 
and aloft, 282. 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read, 
273. 

Rio Verde, Rio Verde, 782. 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, 474. 

River ! that in silence windest, 19. 

River, that stealest with such silent 
pace, 410. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
bane, 275. 

Sadly as some old mediaeval knight, 

465. 
Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay, 294. 
Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 

238. 
St. Botolph's Town ! Hither across th« 

plains, 419. 
San Miguel de la Tumba is a conven' 

vast and wide, 785. 
See, the fire is sinking low, 377. 
She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side. 



854 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



She is a maid of artless grace, 786. 

Shepherd ! who with thine amorous, 
sylvan song, 780. 

Short of stature, large of limb, 288. 

Should any one there in Rome remem- 
ber Ovid the exile, 842. 

Should you ask me, whence these 
stories, 138. 

Simon Danz has come home again, 435. 

Sing, Song of Hiawatha, 180. 

Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 800. 

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest, 467. 

Slowly, slowly up the wall, 574. 

Slowly the hour-hand of the clock 
moves round, 317. 

So from the bosom of darkness our 
days come roaring and gleaming, 
469. 

Soft through the silent air descend the 
feathery snow-flakes, 469. • 

Solemnly, mournfully, 87. 

Some day, some day, 786. 

Something the heart must have to 
cherish, 812. 

Somewhat back from the village 
street, 85. 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden 
went on his errand, 215. 

Southward with fleet of ice, 128. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and 
olden, 5. 

Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest, 
14. 

Spring is coming, birds are twittering, 
forests leaf, and smiles the sun, 
789. 

Stars of the summer night, 30. 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and 
rest, 444. 

Still through Egypt's desert places, 
464. 

Strike the sails ! King Olaf said, 298. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the 
glade, 367. 

Sweet as the tender fragrance that sur- 
vives, 445. 

Sweet babe ! true portrait of thy fa- 
ther's face, 816. 

Sweet chimes ! that in the loneliness 
of night, 461. 

Sweet faces, that from pictured case- 
ments lean, 420. 

Sweet the memory is to me, 425. 



Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, 

414. 
Take them, O Death ! and bear away, 

137. 
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 3. 
The Ages come and go, 685. 
The Archbishop, whom God loved in 

high degree, 817. 
The battle is fought and won, 363. 
The brooklet came from the mountain, 

385. 
The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 422. 
The course of my long life hath reached 

at last, 835. 
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary, 

19. 
The day is done, and the darkness, 

81. 
The day is ending, 82. 
The doors are all wide open; at the 

gate, 410. 
The guests were loud, the ale was 

strong, 285. 
The holiest of all holidays are those, 

420. 
The lights are out, and gone are all 

the guests, 399. 
The night is come, but not too soon, 4. 
The nuns in the cloister, 52. 
The old house by the lindens, 133. 
The pages of thy book I readj 23. 
The panting City cried to the Sea, 463. 
The peasant leaves his plough afield, 

783. 
There is a quiet spirit in these woods, 

11. 
There is a Reaper, whose name is 

Death, 3. 
There is no flock, however watched 

and tended, 131. 
There sat one day in quiet, 801. 
The rising moon has hid the stars, 18. 
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 

129. 
There was a time when I was very 

small, 800. 
The rivers rush into the sea, 802. 
The sea awoke at midnight from its 

sleep, 412. 
The sea hath its pearls, 809. 
These are the Voices Three, 395. 
These words the poet heard in Para« 

dise, 465. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



855 



The shades of night were falling fast, 

22. 
The Slaver in the broad lagoon, 26. 
The summer sun is sinking low, 460. 
The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 

18. 
The sun is set ; and in his latest beams, 

412. 
The tide rises, the tide falls, 453. 
The twilight is sad and cloudy, 128. 
The wind is rising ; it seizes and 

shakes, 528. 
The world is full of care, 636. 
The young Endymion sleeps Endymi- 

on's sleep, 411. 
This is the Arsenal. From floor to 

ceiling, 70. 
This is the forest primeval. The mur- 
muring pines and the hemlocks, 88. 
This is the place. Stand still, my 

steed, 70. 
This song of mine, 250. 
Thora of Rimol ! hide me ! hide me, 

281. 
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 

292. 
Thou ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves 

are loud, 415. 
Thou brooklet, all unknown to song, 

828. 
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the 

rain, 87. 
Though the mills of God grind slowly, 

yet they grind exceeding small, 

810. 
Thou mighty Prince of Church and 

State, 826. 
Thou Royal River, born of sun and 

shower, 417. 
Thou that from the heavens art, 811. 
Three Kings came riding from far 

away, 443. 
Three miles extended around the fields 

of the homestead, on three sides, 

787. 
Three Silences there are : the first of 

speech, 417. 
Thus for a while he stood, and mused 

by the shore of the ocean, 225. 
Thus sang the Potter at his task, 428. 
Thus, then, much care-worn, 813. 
T is late at night, and in the realm of 

Bleep, 379. 



Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spread- 
ing beech-tree reclining, 840. 

To gallop off to town post-haste, 830. 

To noble heart Love doth for shelter 
fly, 837. 

Torrent of light and river of the air, 
411. • 

Turn, turn, my wheel ! Turn round 
and round, 428. 

Tuscan, that wanderest through the 
realms of gloom, 87. 

'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Glad- 
ness, 804. 

Two angels, one of Life, and one of 
Death, 242. 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 157. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree, 17. 
Under Mount Etna he lies, 256. 
Under the walls of Monterey, 246. 
Until we meet again 1 That is the 

meaning, 461. 
Up soared the lark into the air, 426. 

Viswamitra, the Magician, 442. 
Vogelweid the Minnesinger, 83. 

Warm and still is the summer night, 
435. 

Welcome, my old friend, 82. 

Welcome, O Stork ! that dost wing, 
840. 

We sat within the farm-house old, 130. 

What an image of peace and rest, 451. 

What is this I read in history, 459. 

What phantom is this that appears, 
450. 

What say the Bells of San Bias, 468. 

What should be said of him cannot be 
said, 836. 

What the Immortals, 392. 

When Alcuin taught the sons of Charle- 
magne, 345. 

When by night the frogs are croaking, 
kindle but a torch's fire, 810. 

When descends on the Atlantic, 126. 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 

When I compare, 467. 

When I remember them, those friendfl 

of mine, 409. 
When Mazarvan the Magician, 384. 
When the dying flame of day, 10. 



856 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



When the hours of Day are numbered, 

4. 
When the prime mover of my many 

sighs, 836. 
When the summer fields are mown, 385. 
When the warm sun, that brings, 8. 
When winter winds are piercibg chill, 

9. 
Where are the Poets, unto whom be- 
long, 467. 
Whereunto is money good, 809. 
Whilom Love was like a fire, and 

warmth and comfort it bespoke, 

810. 
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy 

nest, 415. 
Whither, thou turbid wave, 802. 
Who love would seek, 810. 
Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, 

466. 
Will ever the dear days come back 

again, 829. 



Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be 

eternal? 826. 
With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, 

446. 
With snow-white veil and garments as 

of flame, 380. 
With what a glory comes and goes the 

year, 9. 
Witlaf , a king of the Saxons, 134. 
Worn with speed is my good steed, 66. 

Ye sentinels of sleep, 396. 

Yes, the moment shall decide, 397. 

Yes, the Year is growing old, 7. 

Yet not in vain, O River of Yesterday, 

418. 
Ye voices, that arose, 13. 
You shall hear how Hiawatha, 153. 
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 

171, 188. 
You were not at the play to-night, Don 

Carlos, 27. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



The titles of major works and of general divisions are set in small capitals. 



Abbot Joachim, The, 528. 

Aftermath, 385. 

Afternoon in February, 82. 

Allah, 812. 

Amalfi, 425. 

Ancient Spanish Ballads, 782. 

Angel and the Child, The, 826. 

Annie of Tharaw, 808. 

April Day, An, 8. 

Arrow and the Song, The, 86. 

Arsenal at Springfield, The, 70. 

Artist, The, 834. 

At La Chaudeau, 829. 

Auf Wiedersehen, 461. 

Autumn : ' Thou comest, Autumn, 

heralded by the rain,' 87. 
Autumn : ' With what a glory comes 

and goes the year,' 9. 
Autumn within, 457. 
Avon, To the, 465. 
Azrael, 342. 

Ballad of Carmilhan, The, 324. 

Ballad of the French Fleet, A, 440. 

Ballads and Other Poems, 14. 

Baron of St. Castine, The, 335. 

Barreges, 828. 

Bayard Taylor, 446. 

Beatrice, 832. 

Becalmed, 455. 

Beleaguered City, The, 6. 

Belpet op Bruges and Other Poems, 

The, 67. 
Belfry of Bruges, The, 68. 
Belisarius, 427. 
Bell of Atri, The, 315. 
Bells of Lynn, The, 378. 
Bells of San Bias, The, 468. 
Beowulf's Expedition to Heort, 813. 
Beware, 803. 
Bird and the Ship, The, 802. 



Birds of Killingworth, The, 307. 

Birds op Passage, 235. 

Black Knight, The, 804. 

Blessed are the Dead, 811. 

Blind Bartimeus, 20. 

Blind Giel op Castel-Cuille, The, 

818. 
Book op Sonnets, A, 409. 
Boston, 419. 

Boy and the Brook, The, 839. 
Bridge, The, 79. 
Bridge of Cloud, The, 375. 
Broken Oar, The, 421. 
Brook, The, 782. 
Brook and the Wave, The, 385. 
Brooklet, To my, 828. 
Building op the Ship, The, 120. 
Builders, The, 132. 
Burial of the Minnisink, 12. 
Burial of the Poet, The, 454. 

Cadenabbia, 423. 

Canzone, 837. 

Carillon, 67. 

Castle-Builder, The, 384. 

Castle by the Sea, The, 804. 

Castles in Spain, 436. 

Catawba Wine, 250. 

Celestial Pilot, The, 831. 

ChaUenge, The, 384. 

Chamber over the Gate, The, 446. 

Changed, 384. 

Channing, To William E., 23. 

Charlemagne, 343. 

Charles Sumner, 422. 

Chaucer, 410. 

Chaudeau, At La, 829. 

Child Asleep, The, 816. 

Child, To a, 75. 

Childhood, 800. 

Children, 254. 



858 



'INDEX OF TITLES 



Children of the Lord's Supper, The, 

790. 
Children's Crusade, The, 459. 
Children's Hour, The, 255. 
Chimes, 461. 
Christmas Bells, 376. 
Christmas Carol, 825. 
Christus : A Mystery, 470. 
Chrysaor, 127. 
City and the Sea, The, 463. 
Cobbler of Hagenau, The, 320. 
Come, O Death, so silent flying, 786. 
Consolation, 826. 
Coplas de Manrique, 773. 
Courtship op Miles Standish, The, 

211. 
Cross of Snow, The, 421. 
Cumberland, The, 257. 
Curfew, 87. 

Danish Song-Book, To an Old, 82. 

Dante : ' Tuscan, that wanderest 
through the realms of gloom,' 87. 

Dante : ' What should be said of him 
cannct be said,' 836. 

Daybreak, 253. 

Day is Done, The, 81. 

Daylight and Moonlight, 243. 

Day of Sunshine, A, 258. 

Dead, The, 802. 

Death of Archbishop Turpin, 817. 

Decoration Day, 467. 

Dedication (Michael Angelo), 705. 

Dedication (The Seaside and the Fire- 
side), 119. 

Delia, 445. 

Descent of the Muses, The, 415. 

Discoverer of the North Cape, The, 
252. 

Divina Commedia, 380. 

Divine Tragedy, The, 471. 

Drinking Song, 84. 

Driving Cloud, To the, 80. 

Dutch Picture, A, 435. 

Earlier Poems, 7. 

Elected Knight, The, 799. 

Elegiac, 450. 

Elegiac Verse, 462. 

Eliot's Oak, 415. 

Elizabeth, 351. 

Emma and Eginhard, 345. 

Emperor's Bird's-Nest, The, 242. 



Emperor's Glove, The, 440. 

Enceladus, 256. 

Endymion, 18. 

Epimetheus, or the Poet's After* 

thought, 237. 
Evangeline : A Tale op Acadie, 88. 
Evening Star, The, 86. 
Excelsior, 22. 
Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 786. 

Falcon of Ser Federigo, The, 267. 

Fata Morgana, 382. 

Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz, 253. 

Fire, 835. 

Fire of Driftwood, The, 130. 

Flower-de-Luce, 373. 

Flowers, 5. 

Footsteps of Angels, 4. 

Forsaken, 812. 

Four by the Clock, 461. 

Four Lakes of Madison, The, 457. 

Four Princesses at Wilna, The, 420. 

Fragment, A, 467. 

Fragments, 469. 

Friar Lubin, 830. 

Frithiof's Farewell, 790. 

Frithiof 's Homestead, 787. 

Frithiof's Temptation, 789. 

From my Arm-Chair, 447. 

From the Cancioneros, 786. 

Fugitive, The, 838. • 

Galaxy, The, 411. 

Gaspar Becerra, 134. 

Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, 650. 

Giotto's Tower, 379. 

Gleam of Sunshine, A, 70. 

Glove of Black in White Hand Bare, 

787. 
Goblet of Life, The, 20. 
God's-Acre, 19. 
Golden Legend, The, 531. 
Golden Milestone, The, 249. 
Good Part that shall not be takes 

away, The, 24. 
Good Shepherd, The, 781. 
Grave, The, 812. 

Hanging op the Crane, The, 399. 
Happiest Land, The, 801. 
Haroun Al Raschid, 442. t 
Harvest Moon, The, 416. 
Haunted Chamber, The, 383. 



INDEX OF TITLES 859 


Haunted Houses, 240, 


Martin Luther, 607. 


Hawthorne, 376. • 


Masque of Pandora, The, 386. 


Helen of Tyre, 450. 


Meeting, The, 383. 


Hemlock Tree, 807. 


Memories, 463. 


Hermes Trismegistus, 464. 


Mezzo Cammin, 86. 


Herons of Elmwood, The, 435. 


Michael Angelo : A Fragment, 105. 


Holidays, 420. 


Midnight Mass for the Dying Tear, 7. 


Hymn for my Brother's Ordination, 


Milton, 411. 


137. 


Monk of Casal-Maggiore, The, 357. 


Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Beth- 


Monte Cassino, 423. 


lehem, 10. 


Moods, 419. 


^'Hymn to the Night, 2. 


Moonlight, 458. 




-■Morituri Salutamus, 403. 


Image of God, The, 781. 


Mother's Ghost, The, 367. 


Inscription on the Shanklin Fountain, 


My Books, 465. 


468. 


My Cathedral, 453. 


In the Churchyard at Cambridge, 241. 


"My Lost Youth, 247. 


In the Churchyard at Tarrytown, 414. 


My Secret, 831. 


In the Harbor, 455. 




Iron Pen, The, 448. 


Nameless Grave, A, 413. 


Italy, To, 834. 


Native Land, The, 781. 


It is not always May, 18. 


Nature, 414. 




Nature of Love, The, 837. 


Jewish Cemetery at Newport, The, 244. 


Neglected Record of a Mind Neglected, 


John Endicott, 610. 


469. 


Judas Maccabeus, 686. 


New England Tragedies, The, 610. 


Jugurtha, 448. 


Night, 454. 




Noel, 381. 


Kambalu,318. 


Norman Baron, The, 73. 


Keats, 411. 


Nuremberg, 72. 


Keramos, 428. 




Killed at the Ford, 378. 


Occultation of Orion, The, 78. 


King Christian, 799. 


O Faithful, Indefatigable Tides, 469. 


King Robert of Sicily, 275. 


Old Age, 835. 


King Trisanku, 442. 


Old Bridge at Florence, The, 414. 


King Witlaf'a Drinking-Horn, 134. 


-Old Clock on the Stairs, The, 85. 




Old St. David's at Radnor, 451. 


Ladder of St. Augustine, The, 238. 


Oliver Basselin, 245. 


Lady Went worth, 329. 


Open Window, The, 133. 


Leap of Roushan Beg, The, 441. 


Ovid in Exile, 842. 


Legend Beautiful, The, 332. 




Legend of the Cross- Bill, The, 809. 


Palingenesis, 374. 


Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, The, 273. 


Parker Cleaveland, 416. 


L'Envoi (Ultima Thule), 454. 


Passages from Frithiof's Saga, 787. 


L'Envoi (Voices of the Night), 13. 


Paul Revere's Ride, 264. 


Lighthouse, The, 129. 


Pegasus in Pound, 135. 


Light of Stars, The, 4. 


Phantom Ship, The, 239. 


Loss and Gain, 467. 


Poems on Slavery, 23. 


Luck of Edenhall, The, 806. 


Poet and his Songs, The, 454. 




Poetic Aphorisms, 809. 


Mad River, 466. 


Poets, The, 416. 


Maiden and Weathercock, 452. 


Poet's Calendar, The, 455. 


Maidenhood, 21- 


Ponte Vecchio di Firenze, 11, 414. 



86o 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Possibilities, 467. 
Prelude (Voices of the Night), 1. 
President Garfield, 465. 
Prometheus, or the Poet's Fore- 
thought, 236. 
Psalm of Life, A, 3. 

Quadroon Girl, The, 26. 
Quiet Life, A, 830. 

Rain in Summer, 74. 

Rainy Day, The, 19. 

Reaper and the Flowers, The, 3. 

Remorse, 811. 

Resignation, 131. 

Return of Spring, The, 815. 

Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face, The, 439. 

Rhyme of Sir Christopher, The, 369. 

River Charles, To the, 19. 

River Rhone, To the, 417. 

River Yvette, To the, 439. 

Robert Burns, 449. 

Rondel : ' Love, love, what wilt thou 

with this heart of mine ? ' 831. 
Ropewalk, The, 248. 

Saga op King Olaf, The, 280. 

St. John, 685. 

St. John's, Cambridge, 419. 

Sandalphon, 254. 

Sand of the Desert in an Hour-Glass, 

132. 
San Miguel, the Convent, 785. 
Santa Filomena, 251. 
Santa Teresa's Book-Mark, 786. 
Scanderbeg, 363. 
Sea hath its Pearls, The, 809. 
Seaside and the Fireside, The, 119, 
Seaweed, 126. 

Secret of the Sea, The, 127. 
Sermon of St. Francis, The, 426. 
Seven Sonnets and a Canzone, 834. 
Shadow, A, 413. 
Shakespeare, 411. 
Siege of Kazan, The, 839. 
Sifting of Peter, The, 451. 
Silent Love, 810. 
Singers, The, 137. 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, 128. 
Skeleton in Armor, The, 14, 
Slave in the Dismal Swamp, The, 25. 
Slave's Dream, The, 23. 
Slave Singing at Midnight, The, 25. 



Sledge-Ride on the Ice, A, 788, 

Sleep, 413. 

Snow-Flakes, 257. 

So from the Bosom of Darkness, 46$ 

Soft through the Silent Air, 469. 

Some Day, Some Day, 786. 

Something left Undone, 258. 

Song : And whither goest thou, gentle 

sigh, 815. 
Song : Hark, hark ! 815. 
Song : If thou art sleeping, maiden, 

837. 
Song : She is a maid of artless grace, 

786. 
Song : Stay, stay at home, my heart, 

444. 
Song op Hiawatha, The, 138. 
Song of the Bell, 804. 
Song of the Silent Land, 805. 
Songo River, 428. 
Sonnets. 

Artist, The, 834. 

Autumn, 87. 

Boston, 418. 

Broken Oar, The, 421. 

Brook, The, 782. 

Burial of the Poet, The, 454. 

Chaucer, 410. 

Chimes, 461. 

Cross of Snow, The, 421. 

Dante, 87. 

Dante, 836. 

Dedication to Michael Angelo, 705. 

Descent of the Muses, The, 415. 

Divina Commedia, 380. 

Eliot's Oak, 415. 

Evening Star, The, 86. 

Fire, 835. 

Four Princesses at Wilna, The, 420. 

Galaxy, The, 411. 

Giotto's Tower, 379. 

Good Shepherd, The, 780. 

Harvest Moon, The, 416. 

Holidays, 420. 

How strange the sculptures that 
adorn these towers, 380. 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom 
380. 

.1 lift mine eyes, and all the windows 
blaze, 381. 

Image of God, The, 781. 

In the Churchyard at Tarrytown, 
414. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



86l 



Italy, To, 834. 


Soul's Complaint against the Body v 


Keats, 411. 


The, 814. 


Memories, 463. 


Sound of the Sea, The, 412. 


Mezzo Cammin, 86. 


Spanish Student, The, 28. 


Milton, 411. 


Spirit of Poetry, The, 11. 


Moods, 419. 


Spring, 816. 


Mrs. Kemble's Readings from Shake- 


Statue over the Cathedral Door, Th«| 


speare, On, 136. 


808. 


My Books, 465. 


Stork, To the, 840. 


My Cathedral, 423. 


Summer Day by the Sea, A, 412. 


My Secret, 831. 


Sundown, 460. 


Nameless Grave, A, 413. 


Sunrise on the Hills, 11. 


Native Land, The, 781. 


Suspiria, 137. 


Nature, 414. 


Symbolum Apostolorum, 528. 


Night, 454. 




Oft have I seen at some Cathedral 


Tales op a Watside Inn, 259. 


Door, 3S0. 


Tegner's Drapa, 136. 


Old Age, 835. 


Terrace of the Aigalades, On the^ 


Old Bridge at Florence, The, 414. 


827. 


Star of Morning and of Liberty ! 


Terrestrial Paradise, The, 832. 


381. 


Three Friends of Mine, 409. 


Parker Cleaveland, 416. 


Three Kings, The, 443. 


Poets, The, 416. 


Three Silences of Molinos, The, 417. 


Ponte Vecchio di Firenza, 11, 414. 


Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, The, 453. 


Possibilities, 467. 


Tides, The, 412. 


President Garfield, 465. 


To a Child, 75. 


Quiet Life, A, 830. 


To an Old Danish Song-Book, 82. 


Return of Spring, The, 815. 


To Cardinal Richelieu, 826. 


River Rhone, To the, 417. 


To Italy, 834. 


St. John's, Cambridge, 419. 


To-morrow, 379. 


Shadow, A, 413. 


To-morrow (Manana), 781. 


Shakespeare, 411. 


To my Brooklet, 828. 


Sleep, 413. 


Torquemada, 302. 


Sound of the Sea, The, 412. 


To the Avon, 465. 


Summer Day by the Sea, A, 412. 


To the Driving Cloud, 80. 


Three Friends of Mine, 409. 


To the River Charles, 19. 


Three Silences of Molinos, The, 


To the River Rhone, 417. 


417. 


To the River Yvette, 439. 


Tides, The, 412. 


To the Stork, 840. 


To-morrow (Manana), 379. 


To William E. Channing, 23. 


To-morrow, 781. 


To Vittoria Colonna, 836. 


Two Rivers, The, 417. 


Translations, 773. 


Venice, 415. 


Travels by the Fireside, 422. 


Victor and Vanquished, 458. 


Twilight, 128. 


Vittoria Colonna, To, 836. 


Two Angels, The, 242. 


Wapentake, 420. 


Two Locks of Hair, The, 807. 


Will ever the dear Days come back 


Two Rivers, The, 417. 


again, 829. 




With Snow-white Veil and Garments 


Ultima Thule, 446. 


as of Flame, 380. 




Woodstock Park, 419. 


Venice, 415. 


Youth and Age, 835. 


Victor and Vanquished, 458. 



So 



/ 



;• 



862 



T INDEX OF TITLES 



Victor Galbraith, 246. 


Weariness, 258. 


Vida de San Millan, 784. 


White Czar, The, 445. 


Village Blacksmith, The, 17. 


Whither, 803. 


Virgil's First Eclogue, 840. 


Will ever the dear Days come bac 


Vittoria Colonna, 438. 


again, 829. 


Vittoria Colonna, To, 836. 


Windmill, Tho, 453. 


Voices of the Night, 1. 


Wind over the Chimney, The, 377. 


Vox Populi, 384. 


Wine of Juraucon, The, 830. 




Witnesses, The, 25. 


Walter von der Vogelweid, 83. 


Woods in Winter, 9. 


Wanderer's Night-Songs, 811. 


Woodstock Park, 419. 


Wapentake, 420. 


Wraith in the Mist, A, 442. 


Warden of the Cinque Ports, The, 239. 


Wreck of the Hesperus, The, 15. 


Warning, The, 27. 




Wave, The, 802. 


Youth and Age, 835. 



»8 8fr9 6in 900 




SS3U9N00 dO AdVdail 



iihhp 





